


Lightening & Boomerang - The Bounty Hunters

by Chaosconetic



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosconetic/pseuds/Chaosconetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an idle and somewhat silly -what if- short story of how Sokka and Azula might forge a partnership as Bounty Hunters; set after the series ends and an alternate outcome in the search for Ursa concludes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Few things to note; first, I disapprove of how The Search comics ended, so I made a slightly more tolerable alternative to Ursa’s fate. Secondly, Azula is mentally more stable and slightly mellower in this fic, though she’s still rather unhinged; I tried to keep her and everyone in character but haven’t had much success. Thirdly, Azula and Sokka forging their partnership will seem rushed but I didn’t feel like dragging out redundant, repetitive debates with Zuko and Katara as this is only a short 4-5 chapter fic. Lastly I aimed to make Sokka and Azula feel intelligent, but characters are only as smart as the person writing them, and I ain’t very smart at all, so don’t expect anything intellectually earthshaking.

Some several months following the climax of a century long war, life had settled down, though even with peace declared and the Fire Nation's tyrannical ambition doused, trust remains a hard foundation to lay with so much carnage colouring history. Yet the world was managing, primarily thanks to the joint efforts of its saviours who operated as one even when scattered abroad to help where help was needed. However, those saviours had their own hardships to confront, and not all of them strictly impersonal...

The new Fire Lord had a history of childhood tragedy haunting his dreams with painful memories left unresolved, and none more crippling than the mystery of his mother’s disappearance. Ozai taunted and mocked his son's pitiful maternal neediness even as he rotted in his filthy prison cell, powerless since his defeat, something Zuko reminded him of whenever interrogating him about his mother’s whereabouts; yet Ozai never spilled fourth the truth Zuko coveted, rebuffing only with scorn and repudiations no child should ever hear from a parent. Finally, in desperation Zuko turned to Azula, visiting his Semi-crazed sister in her gloomy Asylum prison where she’d been confined...until now. 

Azula's recovery proved a rocky prolonged affair, her mental state was delicate in those first few months, she’d withdrawn into a deep dark well of depression, broken by both her defeat and her father’s abandonment. It was a terrible thing, seeing those golden eyes once so full of fire, passion and life hollow and void of all the she was. Zuko tried talking to her but she never heard him for nothing existed beyond the desolation of her own personal hell. Alas, eventually Azula remembered herself; essentially she was the same cold manipulative perfectionist, but the realization their loveless father only saw her as an expendable weapon had left its scars; scars that bleed still.

Even with her depression quelled and her self-worth restored, Zuko could tell she'd lost some vital piece of herself; not her Firebending, Aang had allowed her to keep that, under strict conditions; no, her loss was etched as deeply in the past as his own, only she shied from the emotion, buried it, believing such human flaws diminished her somehow, and Zuko recognized her anguish as surely as he himself felt it, two wounds one in the same. 

Perhaps Azula also acknowledged their common grievance because after much debate she resolved to help him figure out the mystery haunting their childhoods and persuade the heartless father she now despised to spill his guts, but shrewd and intuitive as Azula is, it was still Ozai who’d tutored her in all that makes her great and he only divulged the information after blackmailing her into an undesirable agreement, which in secrecy she accepted, and so through this twisted series of events, the journey to find their mother began.

Coincidentally, the rest of Team Avatar happened to be visiting the Fire Nation at the time and got a real shock learning about Azula's probation when Zuko asked them to join his search to ensure the princess behaved while Iroh sat the throne in his absence. Naturally they had their reservations, but as the team had their own less urgent business out that way anyway, Aang agreed. The tension and mistrust between the princess and the gang was overwhelming, and trouble wasn't five minutes in following when Azula almost roasted Sokka for arrogantly waving a boomerang in her face which caused the others to react quite forcefully in defence of his stupidity; and so marked the beginning of a very unpleasant journey.

Their trip to the Earth Kingdom was long, Azula caused no outright grief but she was the furthest thing from fun company, never letting up once with her biting insults and harsh critique of their faults as if she had none of her own. Naturally her bellicose attitude immediately dragged a pride wounded Sokka out of his shell with verbal fists flying, eager to avenge his earlier embarrassment at her hands. Azula also feuded with Katara, though not nearly so often as with Sokka, and mostly Katara just harped on about what a terrible person Azula is, which soon bored the princess and she’d resume bating Sokka since he was much more challenging to one-up than his whiny self-righteous sister. For virtually the entire trip they duelled, both matching their ever sharp wits, strategic minds and maddeningly potent sarcasm against eachother in articulate and oddly eloquent verbal warfare. Occasionally even Toph contributed her dry humour and blunt criticisms to the wordy violence, altogether creating enough racket to give everyone headaches and aggravate the usually friendly Appa to the point of almost dumping them all in the ocean and flying off to find solitude.

Oh Azula tried ignoring him, telling herself bickering with peasants was beneath her, yet every dumb comment he made usually set her off. The old Azula wouldn’t act this way she kept reminding herself, she’d erase him from her worldly perception, or even existence altogether; but the old Azula had been broken and left twisting in the wind, and the reality was that she simply just –needed- something to fight, and the tribesman was just quick enough of tongue to challenge her. She could tell he loathed her more openly than the others and he was more than happy to oblige her a good argument anywhere at any time of day, or night, much to the others chagrin. Still, despite Sokka and Azula’s constant slew of veiled insults and double-bladed banter, a grudging respect for one another’s intelligence had developed over those uneventful days of Ursa searching. 

“It feels strange flying around without killer Firebenders breathing down our neck.” Aang reflected aloud the night before touching down for supplies in a small west Earth Kingdom city settlement called Niskata.

“I’d happily oblige you a little nostalgia, Avatar.” Azula offered curtly, obviously joking but even so, it made everyone very uncomfortable which in turn made Azula very happy, thus her comment’s aim. 

Most of the time it was just Azula and Zuko following up leads on their mother in every village and town they visited while Aang did his -peacekeeping- with Katara and Toph, though not Sokka, he declined those trivialities in favour of stuffing his face at every food joint he could find, sometimes even audaciously presenting himself as the Avatar's personal food critic to get free meals whenever Katara refused to fund his gluttony. Aang had re-plotted their course to match Zuko's own agenda, that way they could reunite when their respective business concluded. Aang's appearances weren't necessarily scheduled, but they'd always been on his to-do list anyway, so it all coincided quite well.

Their search took a long time, but Azula and Zuko finally found their mother, only they weren't ready for the truth that confronted them, specifically the new life and family she'd built for herself, a family without them, and her rejection of their attempts to reconnect with her cut the siblings more deeply than either would ever admit to anyone, including eachother. And so, with a mystery of heartache cracked open into even greater heartache, they left, wordlessly boarding Aapa, leaving all the gang's flung queries and curiosity unsatisfied in their grim depression. For the remainder of the trip Zuko distracted himself by helping in Aang's Avatar duties with an unhealthy enthusiasm; Azula though, well, she contented herself pretending the whole thing didn't bother her, burying the emotions deep.

That was two days ago, and now the gang found themselves visiting a quaint little back-country town called Jin-Sing situated outside a large spread of woodland, relatively young in its longevity but boasting a prosperous population of friendly, unassuming people whose only suffering in the war had been the odd raiding party, so Aang's presence wasn't so much required here, but they welcomed him and his group with open arms and generous spirits, much to Azula's distaste. 

Once the rabble returned to daily life, Katara had gone about gathering supplies from the market with Aang and Toph; Zuko wondered off somewhere for some alone time, Sokka vanished to scout for worthy restaurants he could later con out of a free meal, and Azula, unsure what to do, just sat on the edge of a simple white-stone fountain, glowering at passers-by. Half hour later the group reunited where Appa had landed in a stone paved clearing just inside the city gate where the humble two story homes and shops of wood and rock neatly lining the hilly bluffs around them, their chimneys releasing gentle plumes of smoke into the beautiful tangerine sky of sunset above. And so here, among the ambiance of life and fresh air, begins the story of two bounty hunters.

...........

"Hey Aang, look, there's a call for bounty hunters to help exterminate the bandits and other bad guy infestioners around here, like this guy," Sokka squinted at a poster tacked on the large wooden billboard "This guy looks pretty scummy.". 

"And ugly, his beard looks like a birds-nest. Wonder if he’s hiding any eggs in it?" Aang laughed, staring at the artist’s sketch of a burly, unkempt man with bushy black hair distorting a bearded weather beaten face brandishing green oval shaped eyes filled with menace.

"Hmm, a beard pantry, I like it." Sokka mused, then started reading "Name, Bogar the bandit; take caution, extremely dangerous Earthbender, raider, robber and murderer of considerable ability; sounds like a real nice guy," Sokka muttered, continuing "Believed to be hiding among the rocky rises of the Crovine Slopes, a harsh barren landscape of rocky ledges, sharp drops and inhospitable weather just beyond the Scar-Shard woods lining Jin-Sing’s western border; reward, ten gold pieces if captured alive, six if delivered deceased." An enthusiastic Sokka turned, grinning broadly "Sounds like fun huh? Come on, what do ya say Aang, wanna be bounty hunters?" 

"Yeah, that does sound like fun;" Aang said excitedly; then his face fell "Aww I can't, I've got three more appearances to make; maybe some other time."

"You can't be serious Sokka," Katara snorted "How do you expect to find a crook in hiding when you can't even find your own underwear?"

"Hey! It’s not that I couldn't find them; they were hiding from ME!" 

"And with good reason I'll bet." Toph quipped, unheard.

"They were on your bed in plain sight Sokka." Katara argued.

"Camouflage, its nature's craftiest trick," Sokka stated like it was the most logical explanation in the world "Blue fabric on blue blankets, undergarments are sneaky that way."

"So basically you’re admitting you were outsmarted by your own underwear." She shot back.

"Well they are –my- underwear, so it’s only logical they'd absorb some of my genius and...Actually, I'm not talking to you anymore." Sokka turned to Zuko, pretending Katara wasn't there "So what do ya say? You up for some bounty hunten?”

"No thanks, I got my fill hunting you guys all over the world and am now -officially- retired." Zuko answered, bemused.

"Oh, yeah, forgot about that...Well Toph, guess it’s just you and me, the most awesome members of Team Avatar." Sokka declared, punching the air and flexing.

"Nah, you’re on ya own Snoozels, but thanks for recognizing my awesomeness level, you’re not half dorky yourself..."

"But, what, I'm not...BAH! You’re all a bunch of sissy girls; I never wanted you to come anyway!"

"But Toph and I -ARE- girls, and -we never wanted to go anyway-." Katara mimicked in falsetto, giggling.”

"Yeah Snoozels, and I resent being called a sissy." Toph grumped, then as an afterthought, added "Although I can't speak for your girly-girl sister here on that one." Sokka just huffed.

"I'll go bounty hunting with you peasant," Azula whispered right in his ear, grinning wickedly as he whirled in surprise; Sokka wished she’d stop doing that "Truth be told I could use the distraction, and watching you make a fool of yourself might be just what I need."

Zuko felt compelled to object about that "Uh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea Azula, you just got released, and if people see you Firebending, they might, uh, get the wrong idea."

"Don't be silly ZuZu, I'm not actually going to help him, I just want to be there for the laughs when he fails, and he will fail, I mean look at him, the simpleton barely knows how to put one foot in front of the other."

"I can walk!" An irate Sokka shouted then more moderately, added “I can run too.”

"That’s wonderful, you should be very proud of yourself peasant," Azula congratulated sarcastically "In fact I'm sure it won't be long now before your reciting the alphabet to us as well; all the way from A to B."

"Actually," Toph piped up "He already knows his Alphabet, it's drawing a straight line he has trouble with; he can't even write his own name yet." The others laughed and Azula smirked.

"How would you know? You don't even know what my name looks like!" Sokka blurted.

"Maybe not, but I -can- smell it." Toph quipped, entirely unfazed by his heated ill-thought comment "Every time I smell sweat, burned meat and cinnamon shampoo, I think -SOKKA-." Toph wriggled her fingers for emphasis.

"Cinnamon shampoo," Katara teased "So all the times I smelled sugar-cakes, it was coming from Sokka’s ponytail?"

"Yep." Toph nodded, grinning "I just didn't say anything cause I didn't want to embarrass him."

"For the millionth time, it’s called a Warrior's -Wolf Tail-, and there's nothing wrong with wanting to keep it clean and shiny! Now if you'll excuse me, Bogar The Bandit awaits."

"Careful," Katara warned "Bogar might mistake your shiny ponytail for a silver sugar-cake and try to steal it." She jabbed playfully, not really thinking he was serious about seeing through this silly bounty hunting escapade.

"That's it, I'm going! See ya’s in a few days!" Sokka stormed off, Katara and Aang called after him to come back but he ignored them. 

Toph just sighed "Rats, I probably shouldn't have given him such a hard time."

"Well, like our precious little bunny hunter said; see you in a few days." Azula remarked, making to follow after Sokka, but Zuko placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait a minute Azula, we haven’t finished discussing this yet."

"Yes we have, I said I want to be a bounty hunter, you said it wasn't a good idea, I said it was a marvellous idea, you said no, I said yes, you said people won't like me roaming about unescorted, I said I don't care, you forbad me to go but I went anyway...oh wait, that part hasn't happened yet."

"Look, Sokka going is one thing, the guy's crazy and has no self-control," Zuko stated, not really meaning it "But the both of you together, I'm not sure that’s such a good idea."

"We already covered that part." She said, her slender hand circling with impatient elegance “Get to the point already.”

"Fine, hypothetically, say I let you go. How do I know you'll come back?"

"You don't, not that you have anything to worry about, all of father's supporters are either dead or in prison, and even If I wanted your worthless throne to rule over a bunch of traitors who loathe me, which I don't, wouldn't I have a much better chance sticking by your side week in and week out, nosing into all your affairs, waiting for the right moment to plunge the knife of betrayal deep in your back?"

"You’re not helping your case, sis." Azula wrinkled her nose at the informal slang.

"Sis? Really brother, we must reenrol you in social etiquette classes, you've spent too much time exposed to these primitive cultures and your dialect is atrocious, even I'm starting to worry its catching."

Katara chortled at that "You’re worried about catching bad language habits, yet you’re perfectly willing to gallivant off with my brother who is about as articulate with words as he is with a paintbrush." She prodded, oddly unoffended by Azula’s derision, though her repressed hatred of the Princess remained evident.

"It is the fever." Azula quoted ironically then faced her brother "Besides ZuZu, your one track mind friend looks like he has a knack for attracting trouble, so the least I can do is go along to make sure he avoids said trouble, and save his worthless hide should he find it."

"Fine, you can go, just keep in touch, if I don’t hear from you in four days I’ll find you and drag you back to the palace myself.” He warned “And remember; you’re the responsible one, so prove to us you've changed by watching Sokka’s back when he comes up against other benders." 

"Your confidence in your friend is heart-warming, and not that I'm defending the idiot, but he is very talented with a blade; hard as it is to admit, he had me back when we fought on the Boiling Rock’s cable cars. He's probably as good at swordplay as either of us, and I always beat you at swords. Remember? Just like I beat you at everything." The Princess needled. 

Zuko’s jaw tightened "Ugh, just go before I change my mind." He groaned, waving her off.

“Thank you kindly for granting me permission to exercise my own freedom, brother.” Azula drawled, slightly irritated “If you feel the need to apologize for your attitude, I’ll be in the markets collecting supplies with the Water Savage.”

“OK, have fun shopping.” Aang said cheerily, interrupting Zuko’s unvoiced response to save further arguments “And tell Sokka we’ll come say goodbye before we leave.” Azula just sneered at Aang’s spirited cheerfulness and strode gracefully away.

“It’ll be nice to get rid of Sokka for a while, he’s become a real nuisance lately; I swear half the Earth Kingdom’s restaurant owners he’s conned free food out of are howling for blood; if he keeps behaving like that he may end up collecting a bounty on himself.” Katara joked.

“It’s the only bounty he has a hope of bringing in,” Toph put in more seriously “I mean, no offense to him, but he’s not a bender, and benders are exactly who he’s gonna be hunting.” 

“What about that Jun lady we hired to find Uncle Iroh? She’s not a bender.” Zuko argued, defending his friend.

“True, but she’s a giant mountain of awesome with an equally awesome pet; Sokka’s just…Sokka.” Toph shrugged, trying to hide her worry “Maybe I should go with them, keep him from getting hurt.”

“I'm surprised it's you who's taking this seriously Toph, normally I’m the big worrier of the group.” Katara laughed "Besides, I know my brother, he's not actually serious about this; he's just throwing a tantrum because we laughed at his idea."

"I don't know Katara," Toph murmured ominously "He has that whole intense steady heartbeat thing going, I've felt it before, he only gets like that when he's serious about seeing something through, I think he's actually going to do this," Katara looked sceptical, but Toph didn't budge "Look, our teasing aside, he's a big boy and could probably take care of himself if he still had Space Sword, but he doesn't and peacetime's softened him up too much; I'm just," She sighed irritably "I'm just worried he's going to get himself hurt, or worse....Sparky, why'd you let your sister off the hook so easy, especially after you dragged us along to guard against her psycho problems?” Toph accused, scowling at Zuko.

The subject change took Zuko off balance "Honestly, I don't know, I guess I thought since she’s been showing signs of improvement it might be good for her to get out and gain a new more positive perspective on the wider world and learn to accept other people and cultures the way I did in exile."

"That's a pretty big what if, even by my standards." Toph muttered.

"I have to agree,” Katara added “This could have disastrous consequences."

“I’m not so sure Katara, I mean she hasn’t given us any real trouble lately,” Said Aang, trying to put an optimistic spin on the debate.

“Minus the verbal abuse,” The Waterbender grumbled.

“That part I don’t mind, shows she’s got spunk;” Toph chipped in “It’s her superior –I’m queen of the world- attitude that pisses me off; she ain’t even queen of her own sanity, but that don’t stop her looken down her nose at everyone, I swear she’s even more stuck up than you Sugar Queen.” 

“Come on guys,” Aang cut in before Katara and Toph could start one of their infamous shouting matches “I know a little trust is a big ask where Azula’s concerned…”

“Yeah, Biiiiiiiiiig.” Toph echoed sarcastically, arms extended wide.

“I’m with Toph,” Katara repeated, The Earthbender’s teasing already forgotten “She should be locked in the asylum where she’s no to danger anyone, like my brother.” Now Katara was worried Sokka might just be serious about this harebrained career move after all.

"Maybe,” Aang sighed wearily “But everyone deserves a second chance, including Azula. So if not now, when?” Katara had no positive or polite answer to give “And besides, Sokka'll be okay," Aang continued, trying to lighten the mood "He's a smart guy, I mean he's always boasting about his ginormous brain," Aang threw his arms wide, as if measuring "Well now he gets to show it off to the world, and we can always help him out if he gets in a tight spot."

"It's not that simple Twinkle-Toes, he'll be all alone out there and Hawky's his only emergency backup plan and we haven’t heard from that smelly squawker in two days.”

“I wouldn't exactly say he's alone," Zuko amended "I know they argue a lot, but he should be fine while Azula's guarding his back.” He consoled, only catching the craziness of his statement too late, Sokka and Azula bickered constantly, if they couldn’t stand eachother now, a long term arrangement would have them killing eachother, or more realistically, Azula killing Sokka.

As if hearing his thoughts, Toph murmured “That’s what worries me Sparky.” Then she walked away, leaving the others behind exchanging troubled looks. 

.............

After storming off in a huff, Sokka marched by the bounty board, pulling down and pocketing the Bogar poster in passing to discourage other perspective hunters, though it's weathered parchment suggested it was old news anyway. Even so, Sokka trundled along the cracked pavers of a nearby street brimming with merchant stores built variably of wood straw and stone; no high and low class societies here. A few seconds in and he found what he was looking for, a woodsman’s camping and survival store which he burst into, still upset at his sister’s doubting his ability to handle a mere Earthbending bandit. 

The door slamming open made the proprietor jump then glower, not the best first impression Sokka could have made, he'd have to apologize when he made his purchases.

Stalking the isles, he sought out the basic essentials, he needed a new tent and some other camping stuff; a tinder box, tent-pegs, a cooking pot and med-kit, oh and a backpack to carry them in. Most of this stuff he already had, but it wasn't here with him, what with the journey being to spread Aang's grandiose presence about in the name of peace and fluffity-fluff. Sokka also got some rope, a waterskin and one suspicious looking compass. Naturally he couldn't afford the best stuff, only having coppers and a couple of silvers in his belt-pouch, but that's what bounty hunting’s all about, starting poor and getting rich on adventures, then coin after adventures, starting wealthy defeats the purpose.

Suddenly a slender feminine figure in red and gold materialized silently beside him; Azula, he hadn't even heard her enter, a reoccurring theme. She began browsing the various hunting knives on the rack with judgmental interest "What are you doing here?" He squeaked, still freaked out she'd foiled his expert hearing. 

"Forgotten already?" Azula jeered, not looking at him "It seems retroactive memory-loss is another shortcoming you primitives suffer from; it’s any wonder the Southern Raiders virtually expunged your people."

"Funny;" He grumbled, gritting his teeth, refusing to react as she wanted; rehabilitated or not Azula was still a cold hearted bitch; so Sokka smirked instead "I thought you were only teasing your brother about going bounty hunting with me, I never expected you'd get off your pampered backside to follow through, didn't think you had it in you." He baited with only partial success.

"Learn this peasant, I always follow through, and you'd be wise to broaden those expectations of yours, lest my constant defiance of them drown you in your own veneration." She said, teeth bared dangerously in a crocodile smile that rattled his nerves, though he didn't back down.

"Your more like to be blinded by my dazzling brilliance and epic charisma first, Princess Of None." He jabbed, referencing how her own people despised her and sighing when she again didn't rise to his scorn "And just letting you know," He added "If you can't keep up, I'm leaving you behind, and remember, Bogar The Bandit-man is mine, your just an unwanted observer, got it?...good!" He snapped, not letting her answer. 

Azula scowled, she hated being cut off, so accustomed to everyone hanging off her every word, it didn't sit well with her and by the time her mouth opened with a scathing rebuttal notched and drawn, the idiot had already sauntered to another isle, perusing the gloves on offer. Azula shrugged it off and went about gathering her own supplies, purposely getting in the peasant’s way whenever she could, even tripping him over at one point then apologizing with a leisurely "Sorry, didn't see you there." He just glared up at her, rose and dusted off as the mousy shop keep frowned disapprovingly at them, but one icy look from Azula sent him scuttling away into a back room.

Sokka couldn't say he was pleased with Azula's purchases; the little cheat had a purse full of gold and silver from the palace. Hadn't she ever heard of ruffing it? Still, she seemed to know her business and what to buy, probably even better than he did. Sokka's own survival training applied more too arctic climates, but the woods and mountains can't be that different. Right?

Sokka browsed and chose a suitable yet versatile square of netting a little bigger than his opened sleeping-bag which he'd have to retrieve from Appa later. The net was perfect for weaving leaves and foliage through to make a rain resistant camouflage blanket for stealth and stakeouts. He was taken aback to see Azula doing the same, her choice of net was slightly different, thinner weaves but better quality, hence pricier. Still, he had to comment.

"I know you’re miss perfect and all, but I didn't expect you to be trained in jungle survival and all that other nitty-gritty stuff." 

"We had various such instructors at the Fire Nation's Academy For Girls, but most of it I learned when father assigned me to an elite special forces squadron of Firebenders when I was seven, I joined them on covert operations deep in enemy territory to learn all I could from them; infiltration, assassination, espionage, subterfuge. I did it all" She murmured, gazing into space "And my mother never even noticed I was gone..." She laughed bitterly

"Seven," Sokka whistled, hating her just a little less for the confession "Damn your old man was mean."

"Perhaps, but given the opportunity, I wouldn't change a thing as I'd not be who I am today; if my father did nothing else, he made me strong, not weak like you and your pitiful bleeding heart band of rebels."

"We were strong enough to kick your butt, Princess, and ya old man’s too." Sokka simpered, looking smug, his disdain back on full; Azula just ignored him and moved on to the next isle, but he kept talking "In fact I'm not sure I want to bounty hunt now that you've decided to come along and ruin it with all your...horribleness."

Azula gave him a searching sidelong look, masterfully she schooled her face into a mocking smile "Why the lack of optimism?” She cajoled “I thought you liked beating up the bad guys?"

"Sure I do, but not with a bad guy helping me."

"Bad girl, don't you mean?"

"Bad princess." He corrected, chuckling ill-humoredly.

"That's the spirit, see, you’re already having fun, so lighten up would you."

"Yeah, fun, fun-fun tons-o-fun, tons and tons of fun-fun-fun, dun-dun dun-dun-dun" Sokka sang sardonically, shaking his head with his awful melody.

"Although if you continue singing like that, you’re going home short a tongue, which might work out an improvement I think." Azula chortled.

Sokka wasn't rattled, he just grinned as they browsed the first aid shelves "Fun-fact princess." He said, raising a finger "If you don't tell people what you don't like, they can't use it against you, and I know lots of Water Tribe drinken songs I'd be happy to share." Azula shot him a -don't you dare- look that could've burned his hair off, but she didn't respond otherwise, she knew he was right “And just so you know,” He added “I don’t trust you,”

“No, really?” She drawled sardonically.

“Really.” He nodded seriously.

“Well I’d be disappointed if you did.” She remarked as they both approached the unmanned counter.

“Real great customer service they’ve got here. Where’d that clerk run off to?” 

“Don’t look at me.” Azula deflected, all innocence, as if the storeman’s sudden departure weren’t her doing.

Impatient, Sokka started abusing the little service bell on the counter, pointedly ignoring the attached –press once- sign.

Azula spied the mousy looking man from earlier poking his had around the doorway to the backroom, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a mirthless toothy smile “It’s not polite to keep paying customers waiting.” She coaxed in a deceptively gentle tone “Yes, I see you there; Come on out now.” She crooked a finger, a predator’s come-hither gesture if ever there was one, and the timid little man limped to the counter with greatest caution and set to work tallying their purchases respectively, one eye trained warily on Azula the entire time.

They were still tormenting each other even after they paid for their new gear, Azula’s purchases being substantially dearer than Sokka's, they left the camping store and briefly split up to fulfil the rest of their respective shopping lists, Sokka specifically sought plates and good dinner cutlery for cutting the toughest chunks of carnivore’s choice. Bogar wasn’t the only game he'd be hunting out there tomorrow. He also ran into Azula several more times before they were both adequately provisioned, or virtually broke in Sokka’s case. Most hindering though was the discovery none of the shops they searched sold even basic rock-climbing equipment; that would complicate things if Bogar was holdup on the slopes and not camped in the woods, but they’d manage.

When Aang caught up with them outside a general goods store an hour later, he blinked at the two versatile medium sized packs of differing quality containing their purchases, then informed them Katara and the other's had returned to Appa to load their supplies; so they lifted their loads and followed him back to the town gate where farewells weren't readily coming or overly pleasant. 

Zuko was reluctant, but Katara was loudly against this ridiculous bounty hunting venture and was in fact surprised to see both Sokka and Azula were indeed serious, their backpacks stating as much; and so two separate yet equally relative arguments ensued, one short and to the point, the other emotionally harsh on both sides.

............

Zuko had already granted her permission to go, but it didn’t stop him repeating his earlier warnings “There will be no attacking innocents, I’m serious Azula, behave yourself;” Zuko said, stony faced “And no harm is to befall Sokka no matter how annoying he gets.”

“Don’t push me ZuZu, I’ll abide by your precious rules, the only exception will be the criminals we hunt, they get everything that’s coming to them.”

Zuko actually felt sorry for the outlaws on those bounty boards, if only they knew “Fair enough," He agreed "But turn them in alive if you can; murdering defeated opponents isn’t honourable, even despicable criminals like this Bogar guy deserve a little mercy.”

Azula sighed "You and your honor Zuko, I swear you've spent far too much time fraternizing with these clowns you call saviours, they've dolled your instincts, made you weak...well, weaker..." Zuko wasn't moved

"This isn't negotiable Azula; no, senseless, killing."

Azula feigned hurt "Senseless killing? ZuZu, what kind of monster do you think I am? If live prey rewards us more coin, certainly; but otherwise," She smirked wickedly "I make no promises.” 

“This is going to end badly, I just know it.” Zuko groaned, massaging his temples after handing Azula a wrapped bundle containing her nightgown and her share of the food rations which she promptly slipped inside her new backpack.

“My brother, ever the optimist;” Azula teased “Your new friends are a bad influence; but don’t worry, your little sister's back now to even the tides.”

“Wonderful,” He grumbled, climbing aboard the bison’s saddle, then once safely in, called down “Make sure you stay in touch, I meant what I said about the four day rule.” Azula’s sour face was all the answer he needed. That covered, both waited impatiently for the others to conclude there farewells.

Azula heard a heated argument escalating between the water peasant siblings, but she dismissed it when the blind girl’s shadow fell over her. Unlike that emotionally insecure Waterbender now screaming at her brother, Azula secretly respected this one, though blind, the girl was a prodigy in her own right and displayed an admirable inner strength, strength proven in her current steely expression “Hey, Loony-Toon, just wanted to let you know that If you hurt one hair on my best pal’s ugly mug, I’ll personally teach you a whole new definition of both crazy and painful. Comprende?” 

Loony-Toon? Azula’s eye twitched at that absurd, nonsensical nickname, it was almost certainly meant to insult her, but what really piqued Azula’s curiosity was the subtle undercurrent of, something, in the Earthbender’s threat, as if she cared more deeply for Eskimo Boy than she let on; most curious. An exploitable weakness perhaps? Azula filed it away and smiled coldly "Oh spare me your hollow bravado and go find some dirt to play with, brat." 

Azula turned, started walking, but instinct kicked in just in time for her to sidestep an ankle-high chunk of earth rising to trip her. Azula glared promises of fire back at the smirking Earthbender

"Go on, try it." The girl goaded "I'd love a chance to throw your psycho butt back in the slammer." Instantly Azula calmed down, the Earthbender's provocation was clear, if Azula reacted now, her freedom would be forfeit; but if she didn’t react, thereby proving self-control, she'd both win confidence from Zuko and leave the Earthbender looking the fool, and better yet, what if she...?

Azula stood straight, non-threatening, offering the Earthbender a respectful nod "No significant harm will befall your peasant, you have my word." Azula reassured, years of Fire Nation politicking had taught her false sincerity and it worked for her now. Azula caught Zuko’s smile of misplaced pride and the blind girl, though mistrustful, relented and headed wordlessly to farewell Eskimo Boy.

Watching as the other wretches boarded the smelly hairy beast to join Zuko, Azula puzzled why it’d been the Earthbender making threats and not the Waterbender; one would think that self-righteous drama-queen would jump at the chance, Azula certainly felt the girl’s murderous hate and distrust beneath her false courtesy and strained smile whenever they interacted. Perhaps the argument with her brother had erased all other concerns, hence the blind Earthbender speaking on her behalf.

......

“So you’re really doing this?!” Katara asked harshly, glaring as Sokka retrieved his sleeping-bag and rations from Appa's saddle “Of all the stupid, hairbrained ideas you’ve had...does it even occur to you that you’ll be facing benders, and that you’re not a bender? Nooo, of course not, you never think anything through, you just jump in and either sink or swim!”

“Why are you yelling at me!” Sokka yelled.

“Because your being stupid, that’s why!” She yelled back.

Sokka didn’t understand why she was so mad, but he wasn’t taking it “I don’t see the problem, Master Piandao isn’t a bender, and he whooped a hundred Firebender's by himself when they tried to arrest him...” He argued, jumping off Appa.

“He’s a master of the blade and uses his brain, whereas you are a thoughtless bonehead with a boomerang, and you’re not half as good with a sword as you think.” That was only half true, he'd lost Space Sword during the Airship Slice and his replacement blade he dubbed -Not Space Sword- wasn't nearly as competent an alternative; an alternative he’d not even bothered bringing along on Zuko’s mother finding mission.

“What would you know?” He snapped, harsher than he intended “You couldn’t win a real fight without all your fancy, Woooo-waterbending pow-weeeer.” He howled, waving his arms about in crude imitation of her technique “Why do you feel the need to shoot down all my aspirations? The world does that well enough without you helping it.” Their shouting drew mixed glances of irritation and curiosity from passers-by, but seeing the arrow headed Avatar fidgeting to one side, they politely shuffled on.

“Sokka…” Katara pleaded, exasperated “You’re my brother and I love you dearly, but your crazy ideas cause me endless stress; please, won’t you take a day to think this through?” The concern on her face guiled him into feeling like a chump, and embarrassment always made him ruthlessly defensive.

"Would you stop babying me? I can take care of myself and don’t need you constantly patronizing me! You’re not Mom and you never will be, so quit acting like it! She's gone! Why can't you just drop the act and get on with your life?!" Screw regretting that later, he regretted saying it now, the hurt and rejection on Katara's face tore his heart to shreds; she turned away, hiding her face and walking toward Appa, he had to do something, say something "Katara wait..."

"No Sokka," She murmured, stopping, shoulders hunched "Your right, your old enough to make your own decisions; I-I don't mean to, to...I just worry about you is all." He could tell she was on the verge of tears now, but she looked over her shoulder and forced a smile "Stay in touch, Ok; good luck Sokka...oh and give old Boagar a good kick in the butt for me eh." She quipped weakly, trying to offer him a reassuring smile but managing only an awkward grimace that made Sokka wince as he watched his sister climb shakally into the saddle to sit staring at the sunset with Zuko, holding back tears and stubbornly refusing to look at him again.

Sokka closed his eyes, exhaled "Ah man Aang, what did I just do?" Aang gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder 

"Don't worry too much about it, I'll talk to her.”

“Thanks,” Sokka said glumly as MoMo leapt onto his other shoulder "Well Momo, guess this is goodbye for a while," MoMo chittered when Sokka petted him, then without warning the lemur bit his finger "OW!" Sokka yelped "Thanks a lot buddy;" MoMo chittered again, pointing an accusing paw in Sokka's face with a comical scowl; Sokka had to agree "Yeah, guess I deserve that." MoMo leapt from him to a laughing Aang who leapt straight into Appa's saddle on an air-current as Toph came up to him and grinned "What?" He asked.

"Aw nothen Snoozels, you’re just growing up so fast." She teased

"Ah shucks." Sokka mumbled, and they both fidgeted for a moment before reluctantly hugging farewell.

"Your sister'll come round,” Toph whispered “And ignore what I said earlier, you'll make an awesome bounty hunter; maybe as awesome as I am an Earthbender."

"Really?"

"Nah; but you can dream." Toph snorted and Sokka couldn't help but laugh too "See ya soon Snoozel's, be sure to write a detailed recap of Bogar's big butt-whooping in your next letter so Twinkletoes can read it to me."

"Will do; and keep an eye out for Hawky, uh, I mean ear." He said, knowing Hawky would return to him soon, thereby allowing him a means of distant communication.

"Oh-Ha-Ha." Toph deadpanned then catapulted herself up to the saddle with Earthbending, leaving behind an ugly protrusion in the cracked stone pavement.

“Aw; why do farewells always suck?” Sokka grumbled to himself as Appa took off.

..........

Sokka and Azula stood there in the middle of the road, holding up an angry wagon driver as they watched Appa fly off into the sunset, Sokka waving and hollering like a maniac for them to come back after it finally sank in who they were leaving him with; fat lot of good it did him. Resigned to his fate, he and Azula moved to the roadside, the wagon driver making a rude gesture as he bullied his ostrich-horses with a whip and took the road out of town, Sokka returned the gesture as he passed, but Azula's glower obviously impacted the driver far more prominently. 

Huffing, Sokka gave the Princess a sidelong glance before returning his gaze to the distant spot of Sky Appa vanished into and said "I've gotta hand it to you Azula, that whole spiel about us partnering as bounty hunters was real convincing, and going that extra mile buying all that gear, genius, you even had me fooled for a moment there."

"I wasn't lying." She stated, making Sokka scoff.

"Yeah right, Princess Azula the pathological liar telling the bare bones truth, that'll be the day;" He chortled, wiping away a fake tear "Oh your too much...now go on, your free of Zuko like you wanted, so off with you, be about your evil business and let me be, I've got a Bogar to hunt." He ranted, the rolled up bounty poster scrunched in hand.

"Now don't be like that peasant, I meant what I said about joining you, now we can either work together, or compete against eachother, and trust me, you don't want the latter."

"Huh, figures.” He Scoffed “I mean forgive my scepticism, but I still don't believe you.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Azula hummed absently.

“Uh-huh,” Sokka echoed “Yep; and I -still- don’t trust you either;” Sokka said, waving his finger suspiciously at her “You’re up to something, I just know it."

"You'd be surprised -peasant- how little I care about your opinion." Azula sneered "But for the sake of candour I will admit my decision is entirely self-serving; as you know I've been locked away in that degrading cesspool of an Asylum for months, and if Zuko had his way I'd spend the rest of my days confined to the palace where everybody detests my presence and questions my every action; it’s scarcely a step above imprisonment."

"Ah man, not a sob-story, and from you of all people." Sokka complained.

"I'll give you a sob-story to tell if you don't shut up," She warned.

"Sorry," Sokka gulped "Go on."

"Well the short of it is I have a lot of pent up frustration to work off, and taking it out on the dregs of a primitive society might be just the therapy I need."

"So basically, you’re using bounty hunting as an excuse to take your rage out on people who deserve it without fear of legal or ethical intervention."

"Exactly, it’s a win-win arrangement, I get to crack a few skulls which in turn makes the world a safer place and supports your Avatar's –precious- peace effort; not to mention you wouldn't last ten seconds against this Bogar character’s Earthbending abilities without my help." Sokka ignored her last comment and scratched his chin, mulling it over.

"Hmm, you make a good point, so yeah, I guess I'm down with that.” Was he crazy? Had his better judgment gone on vacation and taken his finely tuned instinctual compass with it? Perhaps; but Aang and Zuko believed she’d changed enough to earn a shot at probation. Sokka mayn’t share their blind optimism, but he respected their over-optimistic opinions and for their sake repress his suspicion that she was playing them like musical thingies; actually, this arrangement might work better than he’d like to admit since of all Team Avatar he was the most qualified to suss out her true motives and head off betrayals. So yeah,, crazy or not, he’d cut Princess Prissy some slack, you only lived once after all...but if he got it wrong; well, you do only live once, after all.

Azula must’ve read his mind because she seemed just as puzzled over his easy acceptance “What, just like that? No objection, no accusations, no interrogations or intellectual pissing contest? Are you feeling okay peasant?” She inquired, sounding almost let down by his easy acquiescence.

“Fine and dandy, couldn’t be healthier.” He chirped, causing her brows to knit together as she scrutinized him with suspicion, clearly unable to interpret his sudden change in disposition. 

“What are you up to peasant; I hope you don’t think you’re somehow out-maneuvering me?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirked, smug as the kid who stole the cookie jar; damn, if he could confound her this easily by acting Un-Sokka like, she’d better prepare herself to meat an army of weird and wonderful new Sokkas “So, are we partners or what.” He prompted to cover how uncomfortable her penetrating stare was making him. 

Azula frowned, seemed to reach a decision and gave a slight not “Partners.”

“Alrighty then, bounty hunters we are; oh and please try to remember you can't kill –every- bad guy we find just for the sake of –stress relief-, they might be worth more alive."

"I'm not without common sense peasant."

"Good, otherwise we'd just be playing an endless game of good bounty hunter bad bounty hunter."

Azula smirked "Indeed; and I’d be the..."

"Yeah-yeah, you'd be the bad bounty hunter, big surprise." He waved impatiently

"Actually," She amended "I'd be the good bounty hunter seeing as you don't seem to be good at anything you do."

"Unfair!" He objected "I planned the whole invasion of the Black Sun, single-handedly;" He half-lied "Me, Sokka."

"So I heard...oh wait, how did that work out for you again?" She prodded, Sokka grit his teeth. 

"It wasn't my...you...King....leaked the plan that...YOUR A POO HEAD!"

Azula flinched back slightly, mouth agape, thoroughly dumbstruck by the infantile pettishness of his outburst, all she could do was stand there staring wide eyed as he stalked away. Azula was disappointed; usually his articulacy with caustic remarks and sharp repartee almost equalled her own. Perhaps his argument with his sister had dolled his wits; hopefully he’d be cannier tomorrow, because lacking a semi-competent verbal sparring partner to torment, this bounty venture would quickly lose savour “Hopefully?” She murmured “There’s a word I’ve never placed much stock in. So why now?” Azula sighed, archiving the subject for later assessment while striding after the moody twit before he got himself lost. 

When Azula caught up she found him leaning against an old rock wall, watching the pink and orange streaked sunset, lost in thought. She joined him though kept an unobtrusive distance. Almost ten minutes they leaned there, neither spoke, there was nothing to say. Despite their harmless word fencing contests he still mistrusted her, and she disdained his arrogance and funny-man attitude, but even so, Azula had developed a subtle, grudging -very grudging- respect for this raggedy savage, and she sensed a similar respect in his demeanour toward her; it made her uneasy. Fear Azula was used to inciting in those beneath her, but to respect and be respected in turn, it felt so, wrong, so, equal...Azula hoped, it was all in her imagination "There's that word again...hope." 

"What?" The peasant mumbled. 

Azula started, she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. Had she fallen so far as to lose control over her own tongue? Sometimes it felt like she was losing more and more of herself with every passing day. Everything was different now, unfamiliar, even frightening. This peacetime, it was making her soft, weak, pliable; her life had changed, and not for the better she reflected. Conflict made her strong, overcoming any challenge the war threw at her; through conflict she tested herself and her power grew, but in isolation; stagnation and...and hopefully, this bounty hunting venture would help remedy her twisted identity crisis “Hopefully...pah; Hope the disease, hope the cure, hope the deceiver.” 

"What?" The fool repeated, more irritably.

"Nothing;" Azula muttered, pushing off the wall "Now if your quite done sulking, come and let us find a suitable inn where we may stay, you can find your own accommodations if you wish but I suggest we keep to the one venue, I don't want to waste time chasing you down later."

The prospect of food diluted Sokka’s sulkiness, perking him up some "Good idea, I can’t wait to ditch this pack and get something to eat, a good steak would go down perfect about now; I'm –soooo- hungry."

"Is stuffing your face all you ever think about; one would swear your brain resides soly in your stomach, and since that's always empty..."

"Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite," He said, not rising to her half-hearted baiting "But your right about using the same inn, I don't think there’s too many around this side of town anyway, all I saw was that three story place back near where we bought all our stuff, looks comfy enough I guess." Azula had to agree about ditching their packs, it'd take a while accustoming herself to the weight, they weren't exactly large or heavy but they'd certainly hamper her Firebending in an unexpected pinch; but bridge crossing and all that. 

With prospects of a warm meal they headed off to the inn they'd spotted earlier, encountering few other people on the streets as they walked. With night falling people were likely supping, or getting drunk out of their skull, as the woo-whooing racket of raucous male laughter drifting from a nearby local bar suggested; the place stank of puke and ale even out here and was so rundown it matched its patrons seamlessly. Even so, it was a pleasant stroll in the fresh country air, a cool evening breeze brushing across their faces as the stars grew visible in the darkening sky. Azula felt relaxed for the first time in ages, and she didn't like it, relaxed meant unguarded, vulnerable, so she resisted the ambient lull and perked to her usual refined state of alertness; her idiot companion though merely sighed in contentment, smiling torpidly up at the rising moon "Oscitant moron."

The fool must’ve felt her disapproving eyes on him, because his voice took on a soft, lilting, almost sing-song cadence when his repetitious declaration of “Still don’t trust you.” Drifted harmonically away into the cool night air; Azula couldn’t fault his distrust. How could she? When she could no longer even trust in herself?”

..........................

The Churl March Inn was a clean enough place; plain wooden exterior, serviceable shuttered windows, triangular roofs, no dilapidation, relatively well maintained in all. Inside, pictures and cheap yet suitable tapestries decorated the candlelit taproom and dining area walls, not bad for a primitive culture of dirt dwellers Azula thought.

Entering, Azula got some wary looks from the other patrons who recognized her signature Fire Nation outfit and Royal hairpiece; her reputation had reached even this backwater it seemed, but wisely nobody started anything. The war hadn't hit these people hard enough for outright aggression, although that won't be the case everywhere they travelled chasing bounties, and she used the term -they- very loosely, unsure whether or not she’d part ways with the peasant after catching this Bogar creature. Food for thought that.

They both designated a cloth covered wooden table, dropped their packs beside the chairs and sat, Azula displaying a refined feminine grace unlike Sokka who just plopped down and signalled the waitress; he ordered the biggest stake on the menu and Azula got some weird chicken and vegetable combo. Strange, Sokka’d always pegged her as some stuck up vegetarian. He considered needling her about it but decided they'd argued enough today; apparently Azula thought the same as neither spoke until their meals turned up, and even then it was just to order beverages.

When the food came, Azula scrutinised her meal and mug of water, perhaps checking for signs of poisoning. Sokka couldn’t blame her, being one of the most despised people in the world wouldn’t be a picnic for anyone, she even heated her cup of water to sterilize the provided cutlery. Even so, she appeared satisfied with the results and dug in. 

Their meal also proceeded silently, except for Sokka’s slurping, lip-smacking and wolfish growling as he mauled his deliciously juicy rump stake, drawing not only a disgusted look from Azula as she picked daintily at her food, but also some not too appreciative glances from other diners, but the bald burly cook in the open faced kitchen seemed happy, grinning broadly at the enthusiasm with which a customer devoured his meal, he even roared with laughter when Sokka burped loudly, though that particular indiscretion earned him a bruised shin from Azula who kicked him hard under the table, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment before her usual cold mask of unemotion saved face.

After their meal, they walked, or limped in Sokka's case to see the guy behind the bar about renting a room each. The curly haired barkeep first looked at Sokka, then at Azula, then back to Sokka wearing a big poo-eating grin. Sokka knew what the man was thinking but he barely opened his mouth to deny it when the barkeep said they had only -one- room available on the top floor even though Sokka could clearly see the other unused room keys on the rack. But when the guy mentioned it was their best room with a view of the sunrise and offered a discount, Sokka relented. This didn't appease Azula at all however.

"One room, what kind of flophouse is..." Azula started but Sokka cut her off before she offended someone, knowing any other possible boarding options were too far into town for their needs.

"If it's all you've got, it'll do, thanks buddy" Sokka amended and almost did a double-take because when the curly haired barkeep handed him the key, the cheeky bastard actually winked at him, as if to say -have a niiice night-...the guy had no idea; this was no kindness. What's worse, Azula also caught the unspoken exchange and a very angry embarrassed red colour slowly crept into her cheeks, her lip quivered with scarcely contained indignation. Sokka suspected the only reason she didn't incinerate the man or argue about the room was to keep from making a public spectacle of it. Still, Sokka hustled her off upstairs just in case she changed her mind and slew everyone in the taproom who'd witnessed her blushing, including him. 

All the way up the two flights of spiralling stairs Azula simultaneously scolded Sokka's table manners and raved about how she would kill that obnoxious barkeep for his insolence, but Sokka figured she'd have already done that if she didn't care about making a seen. 

Sokka grumbled to himself about having to share a room with her and Azula wasn't all that keen on the idea either, but short of threatening the innkeeper or tossing the occupants of a second room out the third story window and claiming the free accommodations on the recently vacated's coin, they had to make do.

Their third floor room was of generous size for an inn, candlelit, well furnished, even with its own refresher room, bath and privy included, the only problem was the double bed, which was the only bed. Sokka just stood there gaping, but Azula bustled past, spared it a cursory glance, shrugged as if she already knew she'd be the one sleeping in it and went straight into the refresher room, saying something about a bath before the door clicked closed behind her. 

For some of the time she was bathing Sokka thought he heard the princess humming one of those depressing Fire Nation folk songs, maybe Blue Dragon’s Lament, he wasn’t sure, but he refrained from any teasing jabs when Azula left the bath twenty minutes later, an urge that became difficult to repress after she rudely commented about his body odour and demanded he take a bath at once. Knowing she was right about his stinkiness, he sullenly agreed and entered the refresher, glad to see Azula hadn’t contaminated the plain bathwater with soapy crap, a natural scent for a natural setting is a law of hunting, and smelling like a basket of fruit and wildflowers would only piss off the spirits of stealth and sneakiness. Even so he took a good long Soak, wishing all the while it was Suki here with him and not this psychotic Firebending misanthrope.

“Meh, at least she was considerate enough to heat the water for me.” Sokka silently amended, trying to at least think one kind thought about the Fire Princess as he leaned back and relaxed in the blissfully steaming hot water, eventually getting out only after he nearly fell asleep. They really shouldn’t have soft headrests in these wooden tubs; it’s too much of a temptation.

When Sokka finally emerged from the bathroom clean and refreshed, he almost had a heart attack at seeing Azula in that red nightgown she'd brought with her. He'd never seen her wearing it before; he'd just assumed she slept in her normal clothes like everyone else. The gown fit well...too well; oh, and she had her hair down, something else he’d never seen and suddenly he couldn’t think straight; she was so beau...”Ahh! Don’t go there Sokka, just, don’t!” Awkward, he looked away. 

Azula tilted her head, lips quirked in mild amusement "Something wrong?"

"No," He lied.

"Good, make sure those filthy eyes stay where they are, away from me; unless of course you want me to gouge them out and turn them into dream catchers." She smiled sweetly, confusing the hell out of him.

"Don't flatter yourself," He blustered, ignoring her threat "I already have a girlfriend, and frankly, you’re not that attractive anyway." He lied again, smirking when Azula raised a delicate eyebrow at him "But if you’re so self-conscious about it, maybe you should sleep in your normal clothes, it’s what I'm doing."

"Yes, you will be, and on the floor too;" Azula corrected, throwing a pillow at Sokka which hit him in the face "Unlike you uncivilized types, I prefer to sleep in comfort."

"Um, excuse me;" Sokka blurted, hands on hips "I'm the oldest here, and the rule is the oldest always gets the bed, so..." He threw the pillow back, trying to hit her in the face, but she caught it effortlessly, a very dangerous look burning in her hot amber eyes, daring him to challenge her claim to the bed; and he did.

A short heated debate over who got the bed and who got the floor was decided in quick fashion with the obvious outcome presiding. And so five minutes after Azula doused the candles with a mere closing of her fist, Sokka lay on his back in the quiet darkness staring at the ceiling, a nice warm blanket covering his body, a soft fluffy pillow cushioning his head....and a hard wooden floor grinding against his spine while Azula slept in luxury on the big bed, "I'm too gentlemanly for my own good;" Sokka chastised himself, swearing "Next time, I get the bed."

"Pst; peasant...are you awake?" Azula whispered out of the darkness some minutes later, voice deep, sultry and disturbingly beguiling.

"No." Sokka squeaked, cracking an eyelid, now fully alert and very disquieted.

"Just checking..." Sokka shivered, imagining a toothy carnivorous grin parting her full red lips; he didn't dare close his eyes again, Azula might eat him while he slept, he couldn't let that happen, he was too young to be eaten, so he lay there in the dark, his undivided attention focused on Azula's breathing, tensing every time she shifted on the bed; she must have heard him because she suddenly hissed "I can smell your fear!"

"Eeeep!" Sokka squeaked, Azula just giggled

"Go to sleep peasant."

"Easy for you to say," Sokka whined "You don't have to worry about cannibalistic princesses picking your bones clean the moment you close your eyes." He hissed back, clearly disturbed.

"Goodnight Sokka." Azula drawled, her voice husky and ominous, filling his sleepless quaking mind with images of very sharp teeth.

But twenty minutes later he heard Azula snoring softly above him. He considered giving her grief about the snoring tomorrow, but she’d only deny it in predictable fireball throwing fashion; and besides, she’d shown surprising generosity letting him have a pillow, oh and the blanket too as Firebenders produce their own warmth, so he’d let the snoring slide, mostly because his own way louder snores would be sufficient payback anyway.

With that final thought to lull him into sleep, Sokka closed his eyes and nodded off with a truly absurd grin on his face to dream of sweet, sweet Suki.


	2. Chapter 2

(The Churl March Inn: Early Morning, Sunrise)

Azula had been up for an hour, she’d woken at sunrise like any Firebender, donned her usual princess attire, paid for breakfast downstairs, eaten after checking for poison and returned within that time to run through the coming day’s preparations with the peasant only to find the idiot still sprawled snoring on the wooden floor with a puddle of drool collecting by his cheek.

At first she ignored him and took the basics of her new hunting outfit into the bathroom to change, snapping at him to get up and opening the shutters to let in the morning sun as she passed. But when she emerged, he still hadn’t moved, even the daylight beaming through the open window wasn’t stirring him. Azula shook her head, strode over and jabbed a bare foot into his ribs “Up, we’ve a bounty to collect.” She ordered, voice sharp, but he just grunted and rolled over in a tangle of blankets, folding the pillow over his ears.

“Ugh, five more minutes Katara; I just need-ta…..” He slurred, yawning groggily, already getting started on a second drool puddle.

Azula scowled and stepped over him to the bed where her provisions lay ready to be neatly compiled, categorized and stored in her backpack which already contained her tent. She started arranging things in appropriate order, which didn’t take long, then before packing them she glanced back at the fool; he’d not budged an inch. Would she have to put up with this every morning? 

Annoyed, Azula turned, marched over and made to give him another toe jab, but this time Sokka was ready for her and grabbed her ankle, pulling her half way off balance. Azula’s arms shot back to break her fall and save her the humiliation of landing on her backside, yet Sokka felt daringly compelled to exploit her disadvantaged position, because unlike his own common sense, Sokka still held the ankle he’d groggily mistaken for his sister’s and bravely ran the fingers of his other hand over the bare soles of her foot, irrationally satisfied when she gasped in shock.

“Tickle-tickle-tick…” Was all Sokka got out before her other foot flashed out of nowhere and clipped him in the temple; he let go of her ankle and rolled away groaning as little dots of light danced a dazzling dance behind his eyes ”Owww! What did you do that for?” He whined, wondering why Katara would kick him like that, tickle attacks were a perfectly legitimate counter to her Waterbending wakeup pranks and she knew it, so why...then reality dawned brighter than the rising sun outside and recollections of the present penetrated his waking haze to chill his blood; Spirits, he’d just tickle attacked none other than the Fire Princess herself.

Well, that was it, he’d had a good life, short, but good; he curled up, wondering why his fiery demise was so cursedly tardy; maybe death himself was still in bed and Azula had to wake him up too. Sokka waited another few seconds, but nothing happened. Warily, he cracked an eyelid, staring through a mixed haze of sleep and pain then cringed, his gut twisting in dread. Azula loomed over him with hands on hips and a murderous scowl, trying to salvage her dignity by being scary and succeeding fantastically. Why wasn’t she killing him? Stupid question, her deal with Zuko of course, a deal she looked to be seriously weighing the consequences of violating.

“I don’t like being touched,” Azula finally hissed through clenched teeth, making a visible effort to stifle the unhinged fury smoldering like hot coals behind her eyes “Least of all by filthy, pusillanimous, malodorous savages.” 

“Really?” Sokka sputtered indigently, pain making him reckless “Oh wait. Who was kicking who again? Remind me cause I seriously can’t remember on a count of some crazy Firebender I mistook for my sister just kicked my brain upside down!” Azula didn’t respond, but her scowl deepened, those cold gold eyes narrowing to angry slits while Sokka glowered right back, rubbing his new bruise and complaining “You know when normal people get tickled, they usually just laugh and roll around and curse some; they certainly don’t start dealing out instant concussions.”

“Whatever gave you the impression I am anything approaching, normal?” Azula spat as if the word itself tasted foul on her tongue “The muck I clean from under my fingernails holds more value to me than the worthless lives of commoners such as yourself; if anything you should be grateful little Water Savage, this was a cheap lesson, now maybe in future you’ll remember to keep your filthy barbarian hands to yourself.” She snarled and Sokka raised his hands in defensive placation.

“Ok, you hate being touched, that’s fine; but maybe you should take some of your own advice too and stop kicking people, especially while their trying to nap; I swear you’re as bad as my sister dropping cold water on me with her Waterbending every morning. I mean is a little empathy too much to ask?”

Azula’s face told him how much she loved being compared to Katara, but then she gave him an evil grin “I may not be a Waterbender but I do have all the beautiful blue fire you could possibly need as a motivator.” 

“Yeah,” Sokka drawled, jumping up with a calculatedly challenging expression “And I have an Avatar friend with all the Spiritbending your –beautiful blue fire- doesn’t need for a de-motivator; so there.” He poked his tongue out at her childishly, but seeing the unexpected hurt and fear in her now vacant golden eyes, Sokka instantly felt rotten; of course Azula knew Aang could spirit away her bending at a whim, he didn't need to rub her nose in it "Sorry; I-I didn't mean it like..."

"Don't apologize peasant, it’s a sign of weakness;" She admonished feebly, her dejection startling him "You said what you had to say to win, I don't resent you for exploiting the only real advantage you have over me, I only resent that your threat itself carries the full weight of consequences it implies," She had a glazed hollow look in her eyes which she tried to hide by staring at the floor, then she took a breath and reestablished eye contact "Never be sorry for having the strength and resolve to take victory however you must; your threat was well played; just : just don't abuse it." She whispered either in warning or entreaty, looking more fragile than ever he’d seen her.

Speechless, Sokka could only nod, thinking, Wow, that was an uncharacteristically human admission, honest even. The Loony-Bin's influence? Has to be; the old Azula would've deep-roasted him till he resembled a soggy walking carpet of hairy red blisters for his insolence. Oh she still spoke with the old Azula's icy logic and ruthlessness, but now he detected a timidness in her that didn’t keep with her usual persona; if anything this Azula was even scarier. What the heck had they done to her in there?

Wordlessly, Azula resumed sorting her gear into her pack with an exaggerated concentration Sokka assumed was meant to hide the embarrassment flushing her cheeks red. She’d shown emotion, something she likely wasn’t used to doing, especially considering the disastrous revelation of her mother’s new life and her rejection from it. Sokka began to see this girl in a new light, there was more to her than just the psychotic Firebender and cold hearted princess, a normal girl was hidden in there, somewhere in that new hunting outfit. What, was she wearing?

Sokka rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked again; he’d expected Azula to don her usual princessly armor like he was his own Water Tribe Blues, but he’d assumed wrong. Azula cut a strikingly intimidating yet attractive figure; Sokka couldn't stop gawking. She wore a long sleeved hunter’s shirt and pants, both dark Dai-Li green with black fingerless gloves. He also noted the belt around her waist boasting pockets and buttoned pouches and the weapon straps of black leather crisscrossing her chest bristling with all manner of knives, complimenting the other black weapon bands encircling her thighs which matched seamlessly with the black knee-high steel-capped tracking boots she was just now pulling on, boots with their own weapons sheaths.

Overall a decidedly male outfit, dramatic, versatile, intimidating, yet somehow it didn't at all detract from her curvaceous figure; not so tight fitting as to restrict movement, but enough to accentuate her lethal beauty, especially with her hair down, and the knives just multiplied the effect, though what a Firebender of her callabre needed with those knives he wasn’t sure. Even so, Sokka couldn’t help feeling the ensemble ill-suited her; perhaps he was merely accustomed to seeing her in her Fire Nation armor, but whatever the case it was clear she’d spared no expense outfitting herself today, and looked good besides.

"Eww, what are you doing Sokka? This is Azula you realize? Quit ogling the murderous Firebending Princess” He scolded himself “You’re just missing Suki, that's all, yeah, just think pro-Suki thoughts." He chanted "Think Pro-Suki thoughts, Think Pro-Suki thoughts, Think Pro-Suki thoughts...yeah, that’s the stuff."

Azula just shook her head at his ogling and attempts to cease said ogling, both amused and irritated “Hurry up and get dressed, then start packing, and make sure everything’s accounted for, I don't want to waste half the day hiking only to discover you've forgotten some essential bit of kit;” She commanded “incompetence is one thing I cannot tolerate in anyone, on any level. Is that understood?"

"Yeah-yeah," Sokka waved, not really listening as he riffled hiss belongings on the floor.

Azula glared at his back "Well see to it then, triple check everything if you must, just do it right, then head downstairs and order yourself some breakfast otherwise you’ll be whining about your empty stomach all day; I’ll meet you in the taproom when I’m done, so eat quickly." She lectured, shouldering her pack and walking to the door.

"And where are you going?" Sokka asked over his shoulder, still trying to fit his unadorned camouflage net into his pack with one hand while massaging his throbbing head with the other.

"For additional supplies,” She answered bluntly “There’s a market store just across the way, I'll see to acquiring us some additional rations there since our loving siblings didn’t leave us nearly enough to get by on."

"K, just go easy on the price range with mine,” He replied distractedly, pausing briefly to dig around his pockets for his money pouch “I don't have as much coinage as Your Royal Highness."

"Nevermind the cost, these I shall pay for from my own pocket; I will not be blamed because you starved yourself to death on an insufficient budget.”

“Yeah, well unlike you Azula, us –peasant folk- don’t have gold falling out our...” Suddenly realizing she was doing him a kindness, Sokka clamped down on his annoyance "Uh sorry; thanks, I think...” Azula nodded, turned and moved off “Oh, and pick up some meat rations too; saves us a day’s hunting." He called after.

Azula looked back, scowled "You get what you get, and don't concern yourself with hunting animals, we'll be hunting more challenging game; and besides, you’ll be the one cooking anyway." Azula declared, lips quirked smugly. 

"Me? Why do I have to cook? You’re the gir..." Seeing Azula’s raised eyebrow and widening smirk, Sokka wisely shut his mouth before delivering the final syllable that would seal his fate forever "I'm not your servant boy." He grumbled instead.

"No," She replied shortly "You’re too incompetent for that job; a point in your favor as it happens; the dumber people seem, the less other’s ask of them, a technique I see you yourself have mastered and implemented to avoid unwanted responsibilities."

Sokka grinned sheepishly "Huh, you’re the first person to ever catch me out on that one; never thought anyone would see past all the excuses." He murmured “Rats, guess this means I’ve actually gotta pull my weight now.”

"Yes, it does, so don’t waste your time with those silly fronts, they won’t work on me.”

Sokka shrugged “Hay, apathy kills people; you won’t get an argument from me there, but there’s nothing wrong with cutting a few corners to make life easier either.”

Azula frowned but her face softened slightly “Don’t misunderstand me, I’m as averse to wasting energy on frivolous tasks as you are, however I'm not your gullible sister peasant, nor am I as feeble minded as Zuko; you may perceive me as a spoiled child, but understand this, I never -cut corners-, and neither, will you;” She warned, amending “I can carry my own weight and see to my share of the work; so provided you operate on an equal basis, we’ll get along –famously-." She lied.

Sokka doubted Azula would ever consider him her equal in any sense of the word, but that new respect he held for this crazy girl kept growing; she was cold but efficient, he could admire that. So he nodded and got back to packing, hearing the door click closed as she left. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all "Careful Sokka, she may have mellowed some, but that don't make her trustworthy by any stretch..."

Sokka tisked and closed his bag without triple or even double checking like miss know it all instructed; unlike her, he didn’t need to be obsessively retentive with preparations, he was too good an adventurer for such nonsense and didn’t appreciate her condescending lectures. How dare she question his competency? Well he’d show her. Sokka hoicked his pack off the unmade bed over his shoulder while straightening the covers with his free hand. For a girl obsessed with cleanliness, Azula was still very much the princess expecting others to tend her chores, like making the bed; but then he supposed that’s what the inn-maid is paid to do anyway.

Sokka left, closing the door behind him then heading to and down the creaking spiral staircase to the first floor, nearly tripping and breaking his neck more than once under the weight of his pack before reaching the taproom and approaching the counter to be greeted by the same curly brown haired scoundrel from yesterday who’d thought he was doing Sokka a favor lying about there being only one room for rent so he could bunk with Azula. Sokka and his aching spine weren’t particularly grateful for the sentiment and the barkeep picked up on it.

“That bad huh?” He murmured.

“She made me sleep on the floor. What do you think?” Sokka grumbled sullenly, but the apologetic look the guy offered dulled his anger somewhat and he just asked “You got any bacon or anything cooken back there? I’m pretty hungry.”

“Yeah, we can whip some up. Want eggs and toast with em? Got some marinated mushrooms too if you want.”

“Yeah eggs on toast sounds great to me, though I’ll pass on the mushrooms;” Sokka answered politely, he didn’t know why but ever since his stint in the desert he had been inexplicably distrustful of mushrooms; then he grimaced, remembering his partner’s tyrannical impatience “Oh and, um, while I’d never normally rush the perfection of food, I’ve kind of, got to eat quickly.” He mumbled, shuffling awkwardly.

The barkeep gave him a quizzical look, then understood “Ah, so the She-Beast’s coming back then?” Sokka nodded tiredly, appreciating the man’s sympathetic smile “Don’t worry pal, I’ll tell the cook to double time it, he’s excellent at his job so the food will still taste good.” Curly Hair tallied up the cost, paused thoughtfully, then said “Look, to make up for the, uh, room mix-up yesterday, breakfast is on the house, just a misunderstanding you know, nothing the boss need hear about.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem, besides, I overcharged your –not girlfriend- for her breakfast anyway;” The guy grinned roguishly “A little payback for all those names she called me yesterday.”

“D-d-don’t say that so loud, she might hear.” Sokka hissed through his teeth, scanning the taproom anxiously even though Azula was shopping over the street.

“Yeah good point, she is kinda scary ain’t she?” The barkeep admitted in a whisper, also glancing about warily.

“Your preaching to the fat singing quire conductor guy.” They both laughed nervously and parted, he to relay instructions to the cook and Sokka to find a table.

Sitting, Sokka wasted the proceeding minutes wait gazing about the relatively unoccupied taproom, an old warrior’s song he and a long lost childhood friend used to sing as kids looping about in his head, an exiled friend, wrongly accused and dearly missed by Sokka and Sokka alone. The sad memory drew his hand to his chest to touch the broken half of an old boomerang hanging on a necklace hidden under his shirt, idly wondering if his friend still possessed the other half, they had, after all, been like brothers...once.

The taproom was nice and quiet this morning, hardly anybody was awake yet, the shutters were open to let in the gentle morning light and fresh country breeze that coalesced into a relaxed ambience. The same barkeep placed his breakfast before him minutes later, Sokka thanked the man and got stuck into both the food and contemplation of how the day might play out.

Azula returned when he was about half done eating, she handed him his share of the rations which Sokka placed carefully in the special pocket of his pack reserved for dry foods. She sat down, patiently waiting for him to finish his breakfast; he could see her face scrunch up in revulsion at his wolfish table manners and insistence on savoring every bite.

“I’d tell you to eat faster but I fear the resulting carnage of haste pressuring your already piggish gluttony. Is dining with a modicum of decorum really such a handicap with you people?”

Sokka glanced up, grinning with egg yolk dribbling off his chin “The ancient art of food appreciation and consumption is a sacred practice one should –never- rush, so I’ll thank you not to disrespect the divine process;” Sokka admonished, pompously mimicking her uncle’s wise old man tone to irritate her “Plus my head’s pounding so bad thanks to you that I couldn’t eat any faster if I wanted to.”

“If you weren’t so lazy waking up this morning you wouldn’t be having either of these problems, idiot; oh and for the record, the head trauma was your own fault”

He couldn’t argue her logic on the latter, but the former “Well maybe if you’d taken the hard floor and let me have the bed I wouldn’t be suffering right now, I mean just look at this splinter I got.” He held up his hand, indicating the culprit buried in the side of his thumb “It’s huge.”

Azula tutted “Let me see,” She said, snatching his hand before he could pull away and using her log sharp nails to pluck the splinter out with quick merciless precision.

“Yow!” Sokka yelped, making the bar tender and two nearby patrons jump; he stuck his thumb in his mouth and in a word Azula accurately summed up how he must’ve looked.

“Baby.” She chided and he glowered at her over his hand “Crying over a splinter, it’s not even bleeding.”

“How would you know?!”

“Because I’m the one who removed it; check.” She ordered, and he did, surprised to see the only broken skin was where the splinter had resided “I’ll take your stupefaction as a thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks; though a little warning would be nice next time.” Sokka complained.

Azula ignored him and said “I suggest you eat faster, your sloth has already placed us an hour behind schedule, we’re losing the morning.”

“It’s only seven in the morning,” Sokka argued “There’s plenty of time, and it may shock you to hear this, but I didn’t even know there was such a thing as seven in the morning before twenty minutes ago.” Azula just made an exasperated noise, mumbling about incompetent underlings never ceasing to plague her life.

Sokka was still too disoriented to bother taking offense, though he was still mad at her for kicking him in the head. Couldn’t this girl take a harmless prank? It felt like a band of drunken drummers were having a tribal dance party in his skull and he briefly wondered how they’d gotten in there before shaking the delusion, thinking it best to eat the rest of his bacon then discard the fork he was holding before the urge to jam it in Azula’s eye grew too appealing “What did you expect moron, trying to tickle the scariest Princess who ever lived; not your finest moment.” Sokka mentally scolded himself, but aloud he merely grumbled “I am not a morning person.”

“I noticed.” Azula stated dryly.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes until Sokka licked the greasy dish clean, then they made a prompt exit before Azula electrocuted the grouchy old farmer in the corner for giving her the stink-eye; man these people didn’t like her “Gee, I wonder why?” 

……………………..

(Jin-Sing Streetside of the Churl March Inn: Early-Mid Morning,)

Outside in the cool morning air, the streets gradually took on life, it was the beginning of another routine Jin-Sing work day from most, and while the term –routine- couldn’t be applied to the unlikely bounty hunting duo who stood the cobbled path fronting the inn, they certainly had a hard couple of days work ahead of them; yet all they did right then was heckle and harass oneanother, mostly out of habit. 

"Well; where shall we start oh great and mighty hunter?" Azula prodded, teasing.

"Me, I thought you were supposed to be the Fire Nations master huntress?"

"Master huntress of Avatars and rebellious rabble-rousers perhaps, but I'm more intrigued as to these godly warrior’s instincts your so fond of bragging about, so, lead the way." She gestured "Show this poorly educated princess where to start."

She was trying to make him embarrass himself, well that wasn't going to happen, and there was only one guy who could help him "Hmm, this conundrum is a bit too tough for Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe; oh yeah, this sounds like a case for...DETECTIVE SOKKA!" He exclaimed, fist in the air, a magnifying glass materializing in his hand with the same suddenness as the brown checkered hat resting atop his head, looking awful with his scruffy Water Tribe garb.

Azula paled, self-conscious of being seen with this buffoon. Where had the hat and magnifier come from anyway? Azula got the feeling he’d been planning this idiotic roleplaying skit for a while now, waiting for the right moment to bellow that awful line, and luck, that capricious whore had cruelly designated her the sole audience of this madman’s lunacy “Whatever did I do to deserve this?” She moaned despairingly, mercifully unheard as the fool sauntered off whistling a merry tune.

Numbly Azula followed him on the short walk to the town gate, keeping a dissociative distance from him as the fool constantly peered at everything and everyone they passed through that stupid magnifier, always making the same idiotic “Ah-huh.” noise as if gathering vital clues from all he examined. Azula had just made the decision to kill the imbecile and end her public torment when he briefly paused at the bounty board, scratched his head in confusion, then recalled he’d pointlessly stolen the poster so no other bounty hunters would poach they’re game “Hehe, clever me.” He chuckled, dialing down the detective nonsense much to Azula’s relief, though she swore to burn that ugly checkered hat of his first chance she got.

“I trust you still possess that bounty poster, I wish to examine it...Now peasant!” She snapped when he didn’t respond, annoyed at herself for not having studied it yesterday to learn exactly who they were going up against; she had to reestablish her old mindset as this sloppy inattention to detail was just unacceptable.

Wordlessly Sokka withdrew the furled parchment from his shirt and handed it to her so she could study the sketch and accompanying information, both limited in their usefulness. Finished, Azula handed the poster back as they passed out of town and Sokka wasn’t sure he liked the glint of excited malice he saw in her eyes “Phew, glad I’m not Bogar; poor guy.” Indeed, since finding her mother, Azula had shown little inclination to do anything, but now the Fire Princess was back and rearing to fight “Poor, poor Bogar.”

They walked the rocky dirt pavement out of town which snaked between fields of yellowing autumn grass, leaves of similar hues fluttering and rustling all about them on the wings of a gentle breeze. In the radiant morning sunlight the scene was beautiful, worthy of an artist’s brush. Sokka was so mesmerized it took him nearly a minute to notice Azula giving him a sidelong glance so drawn out that he immediately started fidgeting, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

“What?” He demanded.

“That’s what I was about to ask.”

“Huh?” He mumbled, confused.

“As in; what, no compliments or adoration for my new hunting Outfit? I spent a lot of time and silver selecting these garments. Is a little positive input really so much to ask?”

“Why would you care what I think? Or have the opinions of –savages- suddenly become important to you?”

“Don’t get snippy, I only asked for your opinion, on a strictly professional basis of course; though considering the looks you were sending my way earlier, the outfit must already have won your approval.” She teased “Am I right?”

Blushing, Sokka looked away and kicked a clod of dirt as he shuffled along, inwardly cursing her incessant need to torment him “Yeah, its ok I guess.” He muttered and Azula feigned an exasperated sigh.

“Really peasant, you do know how to treat a lady.”

“PAH! Some lady!” Sokka snorted before he could stop himself; he tensed, expecting to be reduced to his base components in a deluge of superheated azure flames, but to his surprise Azula just gave him a comradely punch to the bicep, a hard yet playful punch that made his arm go all tingly, it was just like being with Toph, she enjoyed giving him dead arms too.

“Flatterer.” Azula laughed.

“Did she just laugh like, like normal people? Alright, who is this girl and what has she done with the real Azula?” Sokka thought, then it hit him “Oh, now I get it, Zuko had her cloned; yeah, that’s gotta be it, the real Azula’s still tied up in the loony-bin and this Azula is some freaky mutant copycat lady from the Blue Lagoon...oh no, she’s staring at you again, quick, say something clever, don’t let her know you know.”

“You look like you’ve just unlocked the secrets of the universe, and they weren’t what you expected.” Azula probed, eyes piercingly intense “Care to share?”

“Oh crap, she’s getting suspicious, distract her.” Gathering the full power of his razor edged intellect, Sokka replied with “Uh...nope, sorry, no super-secret plots unraveled here; just hungry.” He smiled “Swish.”

Azula frowned “But, you just ate;” She shook her head, exasperated “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder what goes on in that coconut head of yours; here I am making a special effort to ease your discomfort around me with some intelligent lighthearted banter, learning to get along with -normal people- as my sweet benevolent brother instructed, and this is how you repay me?”

Was that true he wondered? Was her current polite sociable attitude Azula’s attempt to hold up a normal conversation free of malice and threats, or at least using him to practice that normalcy? It’s what Zuko says they were trying to drill into her at the nuthouse, proper human values. That’s good isn’t it? Still, Sokka honestly preferred the old Azula; at least he knew where he stood with her whereas this new unpredictable Azula was freaking him out. So far she’d kicked him in the head, complimented him for threatening her with Aang’s Spiritbending, paid for his rations from her own pocket and now she’s, just...

“Your messing with my head, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am.” Azula confirmed cordially, grinning a cocky grin as she strode on ahead, leaving behind a very confused Sokka.

“Bitch.” He grumbled then ran to catch up.

Sokka leading again, they crossed the grassy fields to the edge of the woodland’s lining the western boarders of town and outlying farmlands where beyond Bogar The Bandit was rumored to hide in wait to ambush travelers. Sokka meandered along the tree-line for five minutes, eyes scouting, studying, until... 

"Ah-Ha!" He halted with an exclamation, brandishing his magnifier and crouching “A footprint, and look; its direction says the walker was leaving the woods.” Sokka examined the mud imprint through his trusty magnifying glass while holding his slipping detective’s hat on with his other hand.

Amused, Azula shuffled closer, her shadow falling over him as she glanced over his shoulder "This is your great start to a successful bounty hunting career, playing in mud? Do you even know what you’re looking at?"

"Why yes, it’s a boot-print, I can tell cause it’s shaped like a boot.” He simpered in childish sing-song condescension.

“An anonymous boot-print,” Azula corrected “As in imprinted by an indeterminate owner; a forester, a farmer perhaps, we know nothing of this area, its inhabitants or this bandit’s favored apparel. So unless you have developed some sixth sense for identifying a party’s name, mind, spirit and location merely through examination of their various engendered leavings...”

Sokka scoffed, sarky retort coiled on tongue “Well I did take a few clairvoyancy classes from an accomplished cloud reading fortune teller; footprint interpretation was one of them.”

“Really?” She drawled, just as sarky.

“No...Now do you mind, your sunlight’s blocking my shadow...Uh-no, I mean-de...j-j-just go sit over there and quit hassling the expert while he does his magic."

Azula guffawed, rolling her eyes as she sat astride a nearby rock cluster, not because he told her to but because her legs needed a rest, not having gotten much exercise in the Asylum she was still out of shape.

Oddly the topic of footprints started Azula reflecting on her old childhood lessons with Fire Nation Special Forces. She leaned forward, her chin resting in cupped hands, musing aloud “The print, its Earth Kingdom Military, standard issue infantry, reinforced sole, it’s a distinctive pattern even distorted in mud.” She recited from memory, knowing the military procedures, counter measures, budgeting and intelligence networks of both Northern Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom by heart through relentless study.

“Yeah,” Sokka agreed, as group scout back during the war he’d learned to identify what signs soldiers had passed through an area by the distinctively patterned bootprints and garbage they left behind and said as much to Azula “I’ve seen boots like that back in the war, and also when we went shoe shopping for Toph.”

“Why in the world would the blind girl need to go shoe shopping?” Azula blurted, having studied the Earthbender’s strengths and shortcomings like with any enemy.

“Meh, no reason, we were board one day so we decided to start messing with the salesmen guys in different shops; you should have seen their faces when we asked if we could cut the soles off so she could try them out, I swear this one lady nearly fainted.” He laughed and Azula rolled her eyes but hid an amused smile, having enjoyed messing with people similarly herself, give or take some malice.

Further examination of the immediate area revealed nothing and poor Sokka’s detective persona deflated under Azula’s humorless judgmental gaze and he got serious about things. They spent a few minutes throwing around some theories and educated guesses about where to start.

Navigating the woodlands would be relatively simple, they stretched vast lengths along and beyond Jin-Sing’s western reaches but were only kilometer or so thick between town and the Krovine Slopes, those slopes were the real problem, too many hiding places, one glance over the treetops told them as much; plus charging into the woods short a map and a plan would be plain idiotic Azula pointed out.

Finally Sokka conceded the poster didn’t provide nearly enough information; Azula surmised it’s likely why the bounty was so old. Sokka suggested they head back into town for some information gathering, like where the bandit was last sighted, and reluctantly, Azula agreed, opining they should also gather more personal info about Bogar to root out exploitable weaknesses; Sokka concurred, though he rolled his eyes at her methods “Same old Azula.” He mused as they crossed the field and took the road back.

Sokka insisted he do all the talking since nobody here trusted Azula “All I’m saying is you can be a bit, scary.” He explained defensively when he really meant “If you value your freedom you’re not allowed to bully people into compliance anymore.” Yeah, spineless, but Azula caught the unspoken message and shot him a nasty look before nodding her agreement, knowing that, without fear the tool, she hadn’t the social capacity to show courtesy to peons she considered beneath her.

………………………………….

(Jin-Sing, mid-late morning)

Inquiring with the townspeople proved a mistake, oh they were friendly enough, but they were also simple folk with short attention spans. Instead of offering the information they sought, one old lady who owned a bakery constantly talked their ears off about the sacred art of baking Marble Sweet-Cakes, a subject Sokka, food lover that he is, listened to with rapt attention, even taking notes he only half finished before Azula forcibly dragged him out of the bakery with the old woman tottering after them with Sokka’s recipe notes which she’d hastily completed and handed over to him with a free marble sweet-cake to boot. He thanked her while Azula huffed impatiently, though it amused her seeing Sokka’s chagrin over discovering the senile old baker’s hurried handwriting was more legible than his own careful script.

After that bit of nonsense, Azula insisted they actually seek out someone in charge, like the Militia Captain, or the jail warden, making Sokka blink and wonder why he hadn’t thought of doing that. So in search of those two individuals they went, both of whom were conveniently stationed in the headquarters neighboring the surprisingly large town lockup.

A twenty minute dialogue with Militia Captain Vaize gleaned only minor helpful tidbits about the area and the timing of Bogar’s machinations. Still, Vaize was a decent guy, helpful, polite, proper, even unintentionally funny at times unlike the warden, a fat little man named Craiza, who aside from being a greedy, ill-mannered pig-hog, was absolutely useless.

Little was deduced about Bogar on a personal level either, apparently Bogar wasn’t even his real name, just one of those silly titles townsfolk typically use to humanize the intimidating anonymity of the villains haunting the peripheral shadows of daily life through application, a coping tactic the weak and mentally fragile employ to denigrate unfamiliar monsters Azula calls it, but to Sokka the title’s merely an identification method used to archive recurring nameless criminals.

Regardless; Bogar’s predations stretched back months, and what little that passed for authority in Jin-Sing, being the Militia, had failed repeatedly to track the bandit, and anyone who presumably befell success was never heard from again. According to some of the townspeople and the Militia Captain, Bogar limited most of his banditry to the three main roads branching in and out of the settlement. Sokka and Azula had just returned from Jin-Sing’s northern road, but there were two other roads forking out the southern gate.

It didn’t take long for Sokka and Azula’s experienced eyes to determine the attack patterns on a map of the countryside, fast discovering a sort of twisted textbook militant triangular grid reference to Bogar’s three main ambush zones, two of which were equidistant on a diagonal trajectory with a superbly serviceable lookout point which had full spyglass range visibility of said zones where the tree-line was lower and didn’t obscure view of the roads. The lookout was a seemingly innocuous rock spire sitting a ledge about a third of the way up the greater bulk of the slopes which loomed imposingly over the woods footing them; from there Bogar could watch, wait, and once a target was sighted it would be a small matter for him to use his supposedly formidable Earthbending and knowledge of the terrain to rock-sled down the slopes then take the quickest pre-designated rout through the woods in quick Earthbender fashion to each ambush zone in time to rob his unwary victims.

Sokka and Azula confirmed this by further investigating the areas from a distance, making sure not to actually enter the line of visibility and tip off Bogar that hunters were stalking his trail. If anything Aang’s visit yesterday would have the bandit keeping his head down; Appa isn’t exactly inconspicuous and it’s worldly fact The Avatar rides a flying bison, plus it’s almost certain Bogar would’ve been watching yesterday, it’s how he makes his living after all. Because really, what else is there for him to do up there anyway?

As to the second southern road which veered sharply west a mile or so along, they theorized it wasn’t wholly visible or swiftly reachable from the sloaps. There had been confirmed sightings of a dirty bearded ruffian skulking about there, but attacks on that road were rare and yielded little success as only commoners from the farming colonies traveled that rout and offered Bogar little in the way of worthwhile booty.

Sokka surmised that Bogar was merely being an optimistic little brigand stalking that road in quieter times when wealthier victims were scarce, but Azula disagreed, arguing that Bogar struck her as being more intuitive than some simple dirt farmer and proposed that he might be staging occasional ambushes on the third road to scramble the rational bearings of capable hunters like themselves to keep said hunters from reaching the very conclusion she and Sokka had with the initial two roads being in correlation with that lookout on the slopes backing the woods. Textbook diversionary tactics like that Azula explained, inadvertently hint at Bogar’s possible military background.

After some consideration, Sokka had to admit Azula might be on to something there, and given the repute of Bogar’s Earthbending skills and his wild merciless nature, this was a potentially traumatized war born man they were hunting, but nothing either of them hadn’t already faced a hundred times before. With Bogar’s military background decided, Azula naturally couldn’t resist teasing.

“Unbelievable, you might have actually stumbled onto something here peasant; seems those footprint interpretation classes are paying off.”

“Oh, Shut up.” He’d grumbled back.

Since what passed for law enforcement here weren’t apt tacticians, it wasn’t a surprise they’d not figured out the simple relation between the bandit haunt on the slopes and the two main roads in and out of town, but it was surprising the guards didn’t at least suspect there was a lookout post somewhere, enabling them to stage a fake convoy for Bogar to target. Or perhaps they’d already tried and were too ashamed to admit Bogar was clever enough to see through the roués.

Even so, Sokka proposed he and Azula set up a similar ambush, but Azula disagreed, stating there was no guarantee Bogar would bother rushing to rob two insignificant, wagonless travelers, and even if he did take the bait, either he’d smell something fishy or he’d attack and the town militia would surely intervene to simultaneously settle their grudge against Bogar and steal the credit for his capture, thereby defeating the point of the bounty hunt. No, if they wanted Bogar, they’d have to go get him themselves, that way they needn’t worry about the militia interfering, they’d already lost several Militiamen trying to catch Bogar in the baron rocky highlands he’s called home for months, and Azula surmised they’d be too cowardly to try again.

With the bounty semantics settled, Azula demanded a map of the woodlands from the Militia captain, the kind of map local hunters of foresters might have sketched up; Captain Vaize didn’t appreciate her attitude, let alone her mere presence, but he dug up an old copy, saying it was a year or so outdated as nobody dares the woods now with all the Bogar related murders, but that didn’t matter, the map was good enough and they departed Militia headquarters slightly better prepared and, informed.

..........

(Jin-Sing, local tea & brunch shop, an hour past midday.)

After mapping there stealthy approach to Bogar’s most likely hideout, they now sat outside a local teashop nursing a steaming cup each while waiting for their ordered lunches to be served, after all, one last civilized indulgence before roughing it for a day in the woods wouldn’t hurt. Still, compared to Iroh’s exquisite product, this blend was flavorless enough to flatten their taste-buds, but neither complained. Why bother? The sky was clear, the breeze cool and the sun pleasantly warm as it ascended towards its midday throne; so contented, they drank in companionable silence; until Azula broke it.

“I’ve a curiosity peasant, one that has occupied my thoughts the past couple of days.”

“Curiosity huh,” Sokka drawled “You sure it’s not jealousy over my winning personality?”

“No, definitely not that.”

“Aww.” He moaned, disappointed.

“Tell me, where is that extravagant black sword of yours? I haven’t seen it with you this whole trip.”

“I, uh,” He looked away, sad features downcast “I lost it in the final airship battle during the comet.”

“So you aren’t certain what became of it?”

“Why? What’s it to you?”

“You could say I have a fondness for fine swords, and that blade of yours is a masterwork in craftsmanship matched only by Master Piandao himself, perhaps even better; I ask only because if I were to lose such a blade, I’d be as ashamed as you now look.”

“Maybe; but at the time I was forced to choose, save the blade, or save Toph… I chose and I stand by my decision.”

“Yes, the Wrong decision.” Azula muttered.

“Pfft, what would you know? You don’t even have any friends left to save, so your opinion doesn’t exactly count for much now does it.” He should have felt bad for saying it, but he didn’t, if anything her lack of emotional reaction to his comment only irked him more.

“It should, I offer it from firsthand experience, and I’m telling you you’d have been wiser to save the sword, at least it will never betray you as Mai and Ty Lee did me.”

“That’s not how I heard it; the way they told it, you turned on them and they did what only best friends do, they stood up for eachother, Zuko too, and by extension everyone else in that cable-car you were about to send into that boiling water, including poor old me I might add.”

Azula merely shook her head disapprovingly, repeating “You should have kept the sword; friendship is blindness to treachery, it is vulnerability second only to love.”

“Says you, but I say Space Sword has a way better chance of surviving a fall from that height than Toph, no matter how good an Earthbender she is, and her life means way more to me than Space Sword does. Besides by then the Airship Slice was already in effect and I was too busy holding Toph with one hand and fighting of supercharged Firebenders with the other to catch it.”

“Airship Slice?” Azula asked, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, the curiosity in her amber gaze disconcerting him slightly.

“Wait, Zuko didn’t tell you about the Airship Slice?”

“Zuko and I haven’t exactly been on a terribly –communicative- basis of late, save for trading insults; so come on, out with it. What is this Airship Slice you speak of?” She pressed and Sokka couldn’t resist slouching in his chair with a cocky grin, boastfully answering.

“Only my greatest display of genius and ingenuity, EVER!”

“Oh mercy, the suspense is –killing- me.” Azula sighed only half sarcastically; so he put her out of her professed misery and rehashed a dramatic telling of his heroic scheme that saved the whole Earth Kingdom, and while Azula disdained his irrepressible pride at foiling her scorched earth plot, she had to concede the imagination of it “Hmm, I’ll grant you that was quite inventive; crude and reckless, yes, suicidal, most definitely; but for a spur of the moment situation, the overall tactic was well executed and you accomplished what you set out to do; not that it’s says much for your sense of self-preservation.”

“Yeah, guess I was acting a bit crazy that day; the tension was so thick I was practically chewing on it.” He chuckled, scratching his head awkwardly.

“Good for you, it didn’t snap back in your face.”

“Yep, it snapped back in your old man’s instead.” That one had them both laughing as Azula had about as much respect for her father now as his enemies did, probably less given the way he’d treated her as a weapon and not a daughter all those years. How had she not seen it earlier Sokka wondered, could it have been any more obvious?

They were getting strange looks from other tea-drinkers at nearby tables, but Azula cowed them with glowering eyes of amber, Sokka tried to do the same but it was clear who was the more menacing, even Azula raised an eyebrow at his expression.

“What? This is my fierce face, it’s not as good as yours but it’s still pretty intimidating.” Azula just rolled her eyes and shook her head, two gestures she’d already exhausted in this peasant’s company; she was actually starting to worry all this repetitious eye-rolling and head shaking would inevitably do her grave injury.

“Incidentally, you should consider purchasing some green apparel; you’re going to stand out like Ty Lee with a pimple in those hideous blue rags.” Damn subject changes between them were jarring, Azula remained socially awkward and Sokka himself wasn’t that much smoother. Guess they’d just have to get used to conversing with eachother, a prospect Azula seemed as averse to as Sokka felt.

“Hay, these –rags- happen to be my favorite outfit. And why bother anyway? If camouflage is what you’re after then we should be wearing gray robes or something to blend into the rocky slopes, cause that’s where Bogar’s hiding ya know, not the woods.”

“Perhaps, but we will be camping in the woods and it is well known this bandit regularly stalks those trees. We’re the hunters remember, not him.”

“Actually, if we make ourselves easy to see, it’ll lure Bogar to us.”

“Oh yes, very clever, gifting our enemy the element of surprise, absolutely ingenious peasant.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic about it.” Sokka grumbled, crossing his arms.

Azula laughed derogatively “Of all the things I never expected to hear you say, you, the self-crowned idiot king of sarcasm.”

“I am merely humbled by your superior wit, my queen.” He teased, bowing mockingly in his seat; Azula replied with a disgusted noise, making Sokka snicker and smirk.

Their insane banter continued until the waitress deposited their delightful smelling meals on the table where it took a twenty minute hiatus while they ate with gusto, the food being too damn good to spoil with neutrally hostile repartee; Sokka didn’t even burp this time by urgent insistence of his bruised shin. But of course once the food was gone they were back at it again, all through the tea drinking then on from the café right to the edge of the woods where it finally ceased and serious business began.  
...........

(Jin-Sing, outer woodlands, two hour past midday.)

Since the roads in and out of town were too visible from the slopes, they took the least visible rout, which basically meant cutting through several residential backyards and shimmying up onto the town walls to jump down among the clustered trees, Azula landing nimbly unlike Sokka who landed on his butt, Azula ridiculed him for it, Sokka pouted then they set off.

“Uh, you’re not wearing any perfume or soapy shampooy stuff are you?” sokka asked “Cause I heard stealth in forests isn’t possible while smelling like strawberries in a puke puddle. You know? Disturbs the wildlife and alerts the enemy.”

“Eloquently put peasant,” Azula praised wryly “And yes, it’s stone solid fact that if one wishes to navigate a habitat undetected, one must embrace the habitat, hence adopting its natural odors to camouflage, that’s why I bathed without soap last night instead of this morning.” She spared him a critical glance “What about you? Shampooed your ponytail recently?” Azula needled, recalling Katara and Toph’s teasing yesterday.

Sokka reddened, growling “It’s a warriors -wolf-tail-; and nope, cept for last night I haven’t bathed in days, I’m probably more earthly smelling than you.” He stated, amused at her revulsion.

“If your definition of -earthly- is representative of an open sewer, then sure, you’re as earthly as a weed sprouting from a mound of compost.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not a very nice person?”

“Why never;” Azula gasped, feigning hurt “If anything I’m a very loving, compassionate person, just ask me.”

“I would if I wanted a purely biased endorsement of your non-existent benevolence.”

“Bias is the only kind of endorsement there is, and self-endorsement is the only kind that’s worth anything; if you want something, just take it, if people are smart they’ll keep their complaint holes shut, and if they aren’t,” She shrugged “Then squash them.”

Sokka found a billion things wrong with her statement but didn’t reply, knowing by her superior smirk that arguing the point would be an exhaustive and fruitless endeavor, plus he had a niggling suspicion that her comment was purely hollow posturing, or so he hoped.

They pushed on without further discussion, an amicable truce settling between them.....For about ten minutes.

"There are no words to describe what an incompetent boob you are!" Azula scolded after Sokka confessed to a –slight- packing error.

"Hehe, you said boob." He snickered, making Azula’s scowl deepen.

"I mean really," She continued, ignoring his giggles "What kind of moron plans to go trekking through the wilderness and forgets his compass!"

"Hay, you try remembering stuff to do five seconds after you wake up, BEFORE THE BUTTCRACK OF DAWN!""

"I told you to double check your provisions -TWICE- before we left. But did you listen? NO!” Azula’s fist shook, struggling to keep from reducing this festering sack of ineptitude to ashes, belittling him was all the conditions of her freedom allowed, a loophole she exploited shamelessly “PAH, just how useless are you?!"

"Ah nag-nag-nag;" Sokka falsettoed, making a chatterbox sign with his hand as he turned to consult the map, mumbling “Sheesh, if this is anything like being married, I might just swear off women forever...”

Azula went deadly still, a terrible shadow settling behind her eyes urging old impulses so violent that resisting them physically hurt; she didn’t dare even breathe lest the slight shift in her composure unleash the roaring fiery beast within. Oh the things she could do to this snide, incompetent, insolent, hapless, brainless, careless, gluttonous, slimy, corpulent Water Tribe savage excrement eating puss-worm...Oooohhh-Agni the things she –could- do. If he just turned around, if he just looked in her eyes, he’d see the possibilities; he’d know…..oh Agni he –would- know.

Lucky for both of them Sokka didn’t turn; oblivious to his mortal peril he just kept mumbling about possible routes, defensible campsites stationed in accordance to distances paralleling probable bandit haunts among the Crovine Slopes whereupon a trained sentry might spot trouble approaching from the woods below. He rambled just long enough for Azula to reign in her overwhelming desire to spill some primitive blood.

"Fair warning peasant, if you ever direct that chatterbox gesture my way again, I will rip your arm off and beat some manners into you with it, which would likely be an exercise in futility given your culturally circumscribed brain capacity, but I’d happily give it a try regardless.” She proclaimed with a nasty lopsided grin and Sokka found no cause to doubt she would “In the meantime,” Azula amended “It’s just lucky I happened to bring my own compass." she declared, smugly unclipping it from her leather belt where hung other hunting tools she'd bought, like all those wicked knives strapped to her chest and thighs.

"Oh, uh, excellent, good thinking Azula, now if you don't mind;" Sokka held out his hand "Navigation is a man's responsibility, which I am..." He knew that comment would annoy her, sexism always irritates Katara, but Azula has better self-control it seems, to Sokka’s disappointment.

She pulled the compass from reach, turning away to consult it "Oh no little Eskimo, this is -My- compass, use your own; oh wait, my mistake, seems you'll just have to find your own way." She smirked, addressing him as if he were a simpleton.

To her annoyance, Sokka wasn't so easily bated either "Oh really, and what would a prissy spoiled princess know about compass bearings." He argued stupidly, the times she'd harried their group never registering in his bravado spewing mind "All that time being pampered and mollycoddled, having your pillow fluffed and wearing girly make up and lipstick..."

"Do you think so?” Azula asked slyly, lips quirked, her simmering rage succumbing to amusement “I'd have figured you’d be more sensitive to a woman's vanity, if there’s any truth to the reports I read about your first visit to Kioshi Island.” Azula let out a deranged little giggle at the stupid, pale, slack-jawed expression that suddenly froze on the peasant’s idiot face “Did you really wear that ridiculous face paint?" She needled.

Sokka flushed, stuttered "Who told you...but...yeah...well, you wore it too!" He deflected, hands on hips, finding the art of forming intelligible words very difficult right then.

"Indeed, but I adopted the costume to conquer a city, whereas you were probably just sating some flaky cross-dressing fetish."

“Cross-dressing!?...Why, you!” Sokka growled throatily, his balled fists shaking and his face turning beat red with embarrassment and anger.

Azula guffawed, letting go her anger, it wasn’t the peasant’s fault he was born an idiot, that honorific goes to nature “Oh settle down, and nevermind the compass; seeing as this is your first time hunting actual people, I’ll overlook this blunder and keep things simple for your diminutive intellect to grasp.”

“Aw how –SO- gracious of you.” He abashedly, sarcastically sulked; ignored.

“I will however expect you to pay attention and learn everything I show you, as will I expect the sharing of any useful survival knowledge you may possess, assuming you have any.” She smirked, he pondered a retort but recalled her saying she’d trained with Special Forces, if so he’d be wise to learn from her “After all, we’re a team, partners, collaborative on equal terms remember.”

It was Sokka’s turn for some face scrunching, and he didn’t miss her self-mocking use of the word collaborative either, but he was more intent on minding his footing than delivering a suitable comeback “Fine, equal terms.” He agreed, adjusting his pack which was moderate in size but heavy even so; he’d never had this problem last year, peacetime tends to do that, impose stagnation. Crazy as it sounds, he agreed with Azula, conflict keeps the mind sharp and the body fit, a shamelessly selfish view perhaps, but no less true. Making a mental note to formulate a new exercise routine, Sokka shifted his pack again, grumbling “I miss Appa.”

(Deep woodlands, approaching the foot slopes, Early sunset.)

The next hour was slow going, the terrain grew denser, rockier and bumpier than Sokka like; worse still, Azula refused to take a much quicker straight line trajectory to the lookout spire, insisting they get to know the terrain comparative to their outdated and increasingly inaccurate map by tediously zigzagging. It’s not that it wouldn’t have been a nice hike under different circumstances, and in better company, the woods weren’t dark or gloomy, the sun still shone; it’s just Sokka felt a bit out of shape, well that and he refused to dwell on the coming nightfall. The last night he and the gang camped in the woods telling scary stories was when that demented wrinkly old Bloodbending lady had hobbled into the firelight; that’d been about the freakiest blood-chillingest moment of his life, and more so now that he knew she’d been a Bloodbender. Obviously he’d never let his fear show around Azula though, he’d never hear the end of it otherwise. 

Thankfully he and Azula had ceased their bickering and gotten serious about things, speaking only to confer about directions and it soon became clear Azula’s forester skills far outclassed Sokka’s artic survival skills in this climate, so Sokka contently followed her lead, though he never admitted his inferiority aloud, ego can be a real killer that way. Besides why give Azula the ammunition anyway? She doesn’t exactly appreciate humility unless it’s worn while cowering in her shadow, which he’d never do. 

So Trading speed for stealth they picked their way quietly among the dying autumn brush, the woods might’ve been gloomier if not for the staccato insects, foraging wildlife and chirping birds among those trees still hording their greens, stubbornly defying the seasons. Eventually though the foot of the Krovine slopes peaked into view between the trunks ahead. 

Crouched low among the tree-line scrub they studied the tent-like rock spire sitting the first level ridge roughly twenty meters above, the very spire they’d earlier pegged as Bogar’s spying point overlooking the treetops onto Jin-Sing’s distant main roads. From this angle it loomed high over the woods, forcing them to crane their necks uncomfortably, and that wasn’t counting the next two levels the slopes boasted about twenty and forty meters above the spire, their jagged, uneven white-gray stone peeks titanic, ominous and resplendent in the gentle tangerine light of the slow setting sun which even now was bowing ponderously toward the horizon beyond their silent worshipful ovation, a passage made more beautiful by the shifting golden beams piercing through the gnarled claw-like tree canopies overhead, causing the breeze blown leaves to dance gracefully through radiant shimmering golden mists of swirling pollen and dust to cast a mesmerizing saltation of light and shadow upon the autumn strewn ground which even the brooding princess was helplessly captivated by. 

Both knowing how sound carries in these places, Azula leaned over and whispered in his ear “Reconnaissance first; agreed?” Sokka nodded “Good; first we should scout along the base of the slopes for quicker less problematic routs up and identifiable landmarks or potential hazards to dot on the map. It also might be wise to seek potential hideouts, caves and whatnot; it’s possible this bandit might even live down here just to mislead fool hunters into daring those cliffs while only using the slopes himself to keep watch.”

“Good point.” Sokka said, receiving a look that said –of course it is, I’m the one who made it-, she didn’t say it though, too intent on the matter at hand “So which way to we head first?” Sokka whispered

“We’ll get this done faster if we split up, I’ll scout to the south, you take north.”

“But, I’m from the South Pole, I should have south.” Sokka complained.

“Fine, you take south, north suits me better anyway, being high born and all.” She smirked “Go as far as you can and be sure to move quietly, tread carefully, cover your tracks, and most importantly, keep low, those blue rags practically scream -Earthbend your boulders this way-;” Azula’s eyes sparkled meanly at his glower “That being said, if you find anything resembling an occupied hideout, memorize the location then return and wait for me, don’t attempt anything by yourself, your no match for this bandit alone and I refuse to be blamed because your own stupidity got you killed. Understood?”

Sokka’s scowled, he knew all this stuff but kept his sarky cool “Sure thing. But how do I know you’ll do the same and not steal the bounty for yourself, huh?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Azula smiled sweetly at him, head tilted.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” He grumbled. 

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” 

“Take it how you like, doesn’t change anything...So when and where do we rendezvous?” 

“Rendezvous?” Azula cocked an eyebrow, Sokka’s knitted together “Huh; we’ll meet back here in an hour; if you get lost, use the lookout as reference to find your way back.”

Sokka rubbed his chin “Uh-OK. But what if that doesn’t work and I still get lost?”

“Then you’ll die an idiot...now go.” Azula ordered, Sokka glowered, she smirked then they crept off in their assigned directions, moving carefully through the surrounding scrub. 

Half hour to scout, half hour to return Sokka decided and over that time he moved carefully, making sure to step on solid ground, preferably rocks, or layering loose brush over any footprints he did leave on softer terrain while trying to avoid brushing against and snapping twigs or knocking down spider webs as doing so would inform any tracker worth his weight in sault someone had passed through recently, and Bogar sounded like a pretty smart fella in the tracking trade. Still, Sokka managed despite it being different to scouting the southern tundra’s, because the essential logic remained the same; be patient, be covert, be the predator. 

His eyes scanned the slopes and surrounding woods for anything of note as he skulked. There was no rush, Bogar wasn’t going anywhere; better to do this properly he thought since rushing up there bellowing challenges would only complicate things. Firstly Bogar will have better knowledge of the slopes geography than them. Secondly they didn’t know whether or not Bogar has any accomplices unknown to the Militia. Although, the idea of catching Bogar by himself just to spite Azula was mighty appealing, she’d certainly do the same given opportunity. But no, just this once he’d try it Aang’s way and give her a chance, if she proves untrustworthy, a lone wolf career suited Sokka fine.

A rustle of foliage, Sokka went to his stomach. Footfalls nearby, crunching leaves; paused, the sound of...of chewing? Sokka blinked, yes chewing, eating, he knew the sound intimately. Was Bogar down here for a snack? Stupid notion, he’d eat in his hideout. Someone else? Perhaps; best find out. Slowly, quietly Sokka crawled, placing limbs carefully between noisy crunchables then peered between a brown tree-trunk and a shedding gray bush and saw a....A hoof? 

It was a rain-doe, munching on what little there was left to eat. Sokka considered boomeranging it, but no, he had scouting to do, plus the usually beautiful creature looked terribly malnourished, as did the cute little younglings hiding behind her legs, ears perked, staring straight at him with those giant naively curious eyes, their mother didn’t seem worried about his presence either; desperation in starvation he supposed, quietly waving a sympathetic goodbye and slinking away, leaving the hungry family to their meager foraging.

Azula was right, they needed to scout the area, and find the least treacherous way to ascend these steep, jagged, rocky heights. Sokka swore these cliffs must have been altered by Earthbenders in some ancient battle, they had multiple levels rising higher and higher, paths zig-zagging upward then back on themselves like the walled battlements and ramparts of some ruined fortresses he’d seen while traveling. If these slopes were actually hospitable enough for civilization, it’d be an absolute nightmare for an attacking groundforce to capture without air support.

A tiny bit over an hour later, Sokka returned to the meeting point to find Azula waiting for him “Your late.” She hissed angrily under her breath.

“Only by five minutes,” Sokka protested with equally whispered irritation “And that’s because I found something interesting.” He added haughtily.

“That’s no excuse for tardiness, be more punctual in future. Now what’s so interesting that you kept me waiting here five damned minutes?”

Swallowing his biting repartee, Sokka reported “I think I saw where our guy’s living.”

“And...” She coaxed, raising an expectant eyebrow.

“I couldn’t see anything specific, but there was I think a sort of cave, real high up on the second level rampart, but I only saw the arch shaped top of a dark opening, the cliff ridge cut the rest from view and I only saw that because the sun’s angle brightened the greeny-brown vines hanging over the entrance.”

“Vines? Strange, our intelligence states nothing grows up there. And brown vines you say?” 

“Greeny-brown, yeah.”

“Hmm; perhaps an attempt at camouflage.” Azula mused.

“Could be;” Sokka agreed “And while certain plants can grow in real plant unfriendly caves with a little dampness to live on, Bogar could also use the vines not just for camouflage but also to keep the lousy weather outside and the heat and light of a fire trapped inside.”

“True, such tactics are textbook for experienced outlaws, multi-purpose tools are better...”

“Not to mention it’d be pointless having both his hideout and lookout on the second levels when it’d be more sensible keeping them separate, otherwise it’d take him longer to reach his ambush points when that rock spire on the first level cliff has a way better, equally distant view of both Jin-Sing’s roads, I mean look at the grooves in the cliff here going way up to that spire thing, if this isn’t Bogar’s lookout, I don’t know what is.”

Seeing for herself the vertical grooves and also faint evidence of fairly well concealed Earthbending tracks leading into the woods, Azula simply nodded in agreement, thoughtful “Did you find anything else in the cave’s general vicinity?” She eventually asked.

“Not much as I didn’t climb up there, but I did come across some old bones belonging to animals in the grass at the base of the cliff, but that could’ve been anything and I doubt ol-Bogar is silly enough to toss evidence like that away so close to his hideout, or maybe he is,” Sokka shrugged “Sometimes even experienced people can slip up with small details like that, especially when long running success makes them complacent.”

Azula actually blinked “Why, that’s very insightful peasant; well-reasoned;” She seemed genuinely impressed “Perhaps you’re not completely useless after all.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess...so, what about you? Find anything interesting?”

Azula’s lips quirked “A mass grave of about a dozen human carcasses rotting in a latrine, but otherwise, nothing of practical use.”

It was Sokka who blinked this time “A, a mass grave; are you serious?!” He blurted too loudly, utterly stupefied.

“Shhh, don’t get excited,” She soothed, mistaking his horrified reaction for eagerness; weird girl “It’s likely just the highwayman’s dumping ground, most of the skeletons had several crushed and broken bones, you know, typical Earthbender savagery; he didn’t even bother to bury them;” Azula snorted derisively, continuing “I’d say a couple of the cadavers are recent victims too if the flies buzzing around the pit are any indication; the stench isn’t too appealing either.” She added as if a dozen dead people were nothing to her. Or were they just dirty savages in her eyes? The thought again reminded him of who he’d partnered with.

“Lovely;” Sokka groaned “Any clues to who they were?”

“I believe they’re what you call, people,” Azula condescended, Sokka rolled his eyes “Who is irrelevant at this stage of decomposition, though you might be interested to know that most of the old tattered garments clothing the cadavers are Fire Nation red; if this is bogar’s dumping ground, it’s clear he has an axe to grind with my former people, and these one’s weren’t quick in dying either, as I explained, skeletons broken and fractured in very specific ways, administered while living, torture is a certainty” Azula’s creepy smile gave Sokka the shivers.

“That’s messed up. How do you know stuff like that?” He gulped.

“Why the practical way silly; learn by doing.” Suddenly her sick uncaring smirk fueled his anger to the point it overshadowed his disquietude.

“Your unbelievable, you know that?” He hissed, still aware enough not to shout “You just stumbled on a latrine full of your murdered countrymen and your treating it like a museum exhibit. Shouldn’t you be outraged or something.”

“Why?” Azula guffawed “The mere fact that they’re dead and rotting in that shit pit proves they were weak, they wouldn’t be there if they weren’t; and secondly, they’re not my people anymore, after shunning my patronage, losing the war and disgracing themselves, their Fire Lord and their Nation. Why should I give a damn?” 

“Uh, how about because every Fire Nationer who fourght and died in the war did so on behalf of your screwy family’s even screwier ambition?”

“Fought, died, and failed,” She spat coldly “I devoted my life to making my country great, and now its people howl for my blood.”

“That’s unfair...”

“Yes, it is...” Azula cut in, twisting his words.

“Not for you, I mean unfair for...”

“It doesn’t really matter anyway, they sealed their fate, let them burn, let the whole world burn for all I care.” She muttered, she had that dark, distant crazy look in her eyes.

“Oh wonderful, your still a raving lunatic.” Sokka grumbled uneasily.

“Not at all,” She guffawed, her impassive countenance instantly recomposing “In fact I couldn’t be more lucid.”

“Great, you have no idea how comforting it is to hear you say that.” Sokka warbled then galvanized himself, straightened and said “I don’t know what’s going on in loopy land, population the contents of your scrambled brains, but there won’t be any world burning while Aang’s running things.”

“Don’t count on it.” She retorted dryly, Sokka bit his tongue, he wouldn’t dignify that with the heated reaction she was fishing for.

Dammit, with allies like Azula, who needed villains like Bogar. That thought brought him back to the present; clenching his fist Sokka swore when he caught this jerk bandit he’d throttle the bastard “A dozen innocent people, maybe more, I should just kill him, damn the bounty.”

Azula, completely dispelled of her previous morbid fancies, seemed to read his thoughts in his body language “Ah, so you’re allowed to kill people for the Avatar’s self-righteous peace crusade but I need special permission to vent my frustration on the lawless dregs of savage society out of therapeutic necessity.” She complained “Where’s the fairness in that I ask you?” She smiled innocently at him, snapping him out of his vengeful rut.

“Huh?” Sokka mumbled distractedly, having lost himself in fancies of visiting justice upon this sick bastard bandit, Azula’s griping had been filtered out.

“Nevermind;” She hissed “We should move further back into the woods and find a suitably defensible campsite before it gets too dark; then we can discuss matters in more detail and plan from there. I’m assuming you remembered to commit the area to memory and scan for a less troublesome way up the cliffs?”

“Yeah, got it all up here,” He boasted, tapping his head 

“That’s encouraging.” Azula drawled sardonically, rolling her eyes. 

Sokka let her remark slide and reported “I found a few fairly non-treacherous ways up; what I’m wondering though is why your so concerned about easy climbs, I’m the one who has to climb whereas you can simply shoot a bunch of flames out your legs and fly into the clouds and never come back.”

“You wish;” Azula guffawed, amending “We’re a team you and I, we are only as effective as our weakest link, hence allowances must be made on my part to compensate for your many, many shortcomings.”

‘Azula refusing to lord her superiority over a non-bender…..your still crazy aren’t you?”

This time her smile was genuine and mirthful “Why, yes, you may be right, I must be.” She laughed, it sounded strange, not quite unhinged, but not quite sane either, but he forced a stupid grin of his own that was more grimace than grin “Come, I saw a serviceable enough location to put up camp a few hundred meters back the way we came.” She moved off quietly and Sokka, nonplussed at how fast his anger toward her had vanished, numbly followed.

……………………………….

(Jin-Sing deep woods, Camp: Sunset)

“And here I thought you were a seasoned adventurer thoughtlessly capable of attending a task as trivial as pitching a tent, yet you continually disappoint my expectations.” Azula taunted, having pitched her own tent in under five minutes...fifteen minutes ago! Watching the stupid savage scrabble about inside the thing as it kept collapsing around him had proven amusing so far, but his clumsy incompetence was growing tiresome.

Sokka’s head poked out the wobbling tent’s triangular peek like the ugly jewel glorifying the foldy patchwork pyramid of leather and green canvas draping his body like an oversized ball-gown “Insightfully helpful as your critique is, I could really use a hand here.” Sokka grumbled then pulled a sour face when she began clapping her hands in mock applause, snickering as he glared.

“Why would I help you when it’s so much more entertaining watching you struggle against adversity?”

“Setting up tents isn’t adversity...” Sokka grunted, crawling out the entry flaps after finally getting the tent standing in sorry fashion “It’s just; DOH!” He blurted angrily, tripping over a poorly position tent peg’s rope, bringing the whole shaky contraption down like a flophouse in flames “OK, its adversity.” He conceded with a hopeless sigh, throwing his arms up “Oh well, it’s good enough for me.”

Surprisingly his resignation disappointed Azula “Defeated already?” She chided “Would that you were the Avatar instead of your arrow headed friend...” She reflected aloud, his frown saying she needn’t finish.

“If I were the Avatar, I’d Airbend your pampered backside into one of these trees and leave you stranded all night, your just lucky I’m such a nice guy.”

“Oh by all means you’re welcome to try, don’t let your gentlemanly conscience temper that overinflated ego.” Azula challenged, then as an afterthought added “Actually, you’d best dispense with conscience altogether if you’ve bounty hunting on the brain, it’ll only burden your judgment with frivolous nonsense like mercy and other equally crippling emotional sentiments.”

“Is that really how you see the human conscience?”

“Idiot, a conscience is a conceptual flaw in the soft and weak like your Avatar friend, and your sister.” Azula scolded sardonically.

“Nice Segway there princess, rather than being obvious and changing the subject, you just shift it in another more argumentative direction by ridiculing Katara; very subtle;” He congratulated only half sarcastically “But you can’t fool me though, you know exactly what I meant.”

“And you know that I know exactly what I meant.” She mimicked, twisting his words some.

“That’s what I said, you know I know that you know...wait, what?” He blurted, confused at her odd wording, then he realized she’d derailed the topic again, sneaky little monster “Hay, quit it, your fancy wordage won’t confusify me, I’m an old pro at this mind-game stuff.” He smirked and she smirked back, a challenge gleaming in her eyes, but he ignored her baiting, sighing “Come on, is it really that bad answering a simple question.”

“Questions of conscience are -far- from simple peasant;“ She sneered in condescension “Particularly so when you enquire after my perceptions regarding something I do not possess, so just drop it already, because you’re really starting to irritate me.” She warned, her tone saying the subject was dismissed and further pursuit of it would be...inadvisable.

“Fine.” Sokka muttered, setting up the circle of rocks for their campfire; he wasn’t stupid, he knew when to back off, but unfortunately, his knowing when to do something rarely implied his doing it; indeed he’d be pushing his luck, certainly Wisdom hounded him to drop the subject, but seldom a subject to wisdom himself, drop it Sokka did not; so, fiddling needlessly with a tent peg to look casual, Sokka swallowed a nervous spittle build-up, took a breath and spoke carefully “Not to pry….”

“You’re prying.” Azula stated flatly, tiredly.

“Okay, I’m prying.” He admitted “But only with benevolent intentions, honest.”

Azula scoffed “Liar, not a single thing about you could be described as benevolent, deceit and misdirection colour your every word and action, even your buffoonish personality and idiot smile cannot be taken at face value; at least not entirely.” She muttered darkly

“Aww ouch, you wound me;” Sokka feigned hurt feelings, offended anyone would think such about him given that he’s always been a –what you see is what you get- kind of guy “And who are you calling liar, Liar? 

“What was it you once said peasant? Takes one to know one? Never have truer words left your mouth than those. Sad isn’t it?” She sniffed, thumbing her nose at him.

“Okay, just for that I’m not going to be tactful about my question; your glass ego really isn’t worth the effort of tiptoeing round anyway.”

“Maybe not, but my sufferance, is.” She hissed 

“Unlike mine right? I’m just returning the favour, quid-pro-quo princess.” He retorted tartly. 

“Oh spare me,” She waved a dismissing hand as imperiously as a queen on a throne “Whatever your question, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well too bad, I’m gonna ask it anyway cause your mood swings are seriously starting to piss me off and the reason behind them is blindly obvious.”

Azula sighed with rapidly thinning tolerance “As you like, but remember, last words are very precious things, so make them count.” A threat wrapped in a warning wrapped in the riddle that is Princess Azula’s confounding mind, Sokka, perhaps foolishly, wasn’t deterred.

Throwing aside all caution, he simply came out and breached the subject she and Zuko had been avoiding “Why do I get the feeling all this stuff about conscience has something to do with your mother not wanting you anywhere near her new family.” Silently, slowly, Azula’s eyes found his, froze him in place; cold-cold drops of water trickled down his spine, such a look did she give him, he felt himself shrink and his balls try to climb up into his stomach for refuge “Thoughtless stupid idiot.” His sensible side chided, too late, what was said could not be unsaid. 

Azula’s response, though soft and mild, didn’t fool him, he’d just placed himself in imminent peril “No peasant, it is I, who am getting a feeling; and I -think- it’s telling me that you want to take a walk.”

“Huh?...No I don……”

Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding, strain attenuating her calm, unemotional tone “Yes, I’m certain of it now, I have a most urgent feeling that you really –Really- want to take a walk; a nice, long, healthy, walk…..You don’t want to neglect your health; or do you, peasant?” Okay, couldn’t get more overt with a veiled threat than that, the frowning bow of her blood red lips and the frightening focused intensity of her gleaming golden eyes slicing into him was simply overkill on the intimidation front.

Though obviously not exercising an iota of the exertion Azula bore over her self-control, it took all the backbone Sokka possessed to manage a calm reply “You know now that you mention it, my health is very important to me;” Knowing he’d touched a nerve and was now standing on very thin ice which even now cracked beneath him, Sokka stood and made a dignified retreat “Yeah, very, uh, intuitive of you princess, I do want to go for a walk, aaaand, collect some firewood.”

“Then by all means, don’t tarry on my account, indulge yourself…..” Her voice didn’t shake at all, bad sign, she wasn’t containing her anger, she was riding it like a wave, mastering it and, most importantly, she was actually giving him enough warning to move clear of where that wave was about to break instead of making him that breaker; not very Azula characteristic admittedly, yet Sokka was thankful all the same as he half jogged half sprinted from the camp, composure finally cracking under her frosty unblinking glower, feeling her scowling at his back even after he’d vanished well out of sight into the afternoon tree-shade, though as he left he didn’t miss her grumbled warning that he should return via an easterly approach to avoid the poison traps she’d be setting.

Sokka knew he wasn’t unharmed due to any merciful inclinations on her part, all that stayed her hand was her agreement with Zuko and naught else. Very aware of that fact, Sokka decidedly took his time collecting the firewood, plus he had to familiarize himself with the area surrounding their camp anyway before the gradually fading afternoon sunlight gave way to night, that way he’d have an idea of what’s where should circumstance push him to running blindly about in the dark, not to mention the shallow latrine that needed digging too. Oh-yeah, occupying himself with all that stuff should give Princess Cranky-Pants time to cool off, or so he hoped “Serves you right for prying into stuff that’s not your business.” 

Briefly Sokka debated ignoring Azula’s advisement of a easterly return in case it was that very approach she’d set her traps for him to bumble into, but he quickly dismissed that paranoia; if she wanted him dead, she’d kill him with her own bare flaming hands, not with booby-traps. So, over half hour later, an eastern approach was exactly what he took, if in cautious fashion, though he did stray slightly north where, after brushing away some leaves with the toe of his boot, he found two thin sharpened wooden spikes, their vicious points damp with what he assumed was poison jutting mere vertical inches from the dirt; he didn’t like that as the spikes would be as much a hazard to them as to attackers in a fight, but then Azula must figure she can fly into the trees and rain fire down on hostiles from above, clever but it certainly did his own safety no favors. Wearing a pained expression, Sokka carefully repositioned the concealing foliage and headed for camp.

When he finally returned with an armload of fire-fodder and settled nerves, he found Azula meditating cross-legged on a small thin black mat before a modest, low burning fire upon which a supplement of their rations was stewing in a cooking pot; only that’s not what really caught his eye. Indeed, to his utter astonishment, his sorry excuse for a tent, or rather his pile of leathered canvas had been erected and pitched in proper sturdy fashion. 

Skeptically, Sokka turned to Azula who sat lotus style, eyes closed, withdrawn into herself, yet when he took a breath to thank her, the princess softly, distantly murmured “Shut up peasant; I fixed your accommodations to increase campsite efficiency, nothing more, now tend to our meals, and be silent.” Azula never opened an eye as she spoke, her voice as tranquil, fluid and enervating as the shadows and firelight dancing across the soft porcelain skin of her perfect emotionless face. She’d calmed down, but not exactly in the way he’d hoped, she seemed withdrawn, disposition darker, more menacing for its blankness...or maybe she was just meditating. What did he know?

“Man, forget Bogar, I’m gonna have to watch what I say around her, otherwise this is gonna be one dangerous, depressing bounty hunt.” Wisely, he remained silent and approached the fire to tend their meal, giving the emotionally ambiguous princess a wide berth; then he noticed the fireplace itself wasn’t where he’d started building it, rather it was now burning in a shallow hole close to some trees which they could easily fill back in with dirt after using, thus leaving behind minimal evidence they were ever here provided they cleaned up properly. Sokka spotted the small steel foldup shovel from his backpack leaning against a nearby tree which explained how she dug the hearth “Huh, guess she really does know her stuff.” 

Indeed a fire pit would reduce a fire’s visibility to an eerie orange glow that placates to their night vision while still being serviceable enough to cook over, which incidentally was the most surprising part; Azula had all the appropriate cooking utensils placed over it with food already cooking. But wait, hadn’t cooking been his job? Oh well, he certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. One thing about the fire-pit’s location perplexed him though.

“Uh, I get why you built the fire like that, but why’d you move it so close to those tree-trunks instead of where I started building it?” He tentatively asked, trying not to crowd her as he placing the firewood next to the fire

Absently, Azula grabbed a broken bit of branch that rolled off the pile and, slid it with deliberate care into the hearth as she answered “Why don’t you for once use that enormous brain you’re always bragging about and noodle it through? I’ll give you a hint; watch the smoke.

Enlightenment struck almost immediately “Ah, I get it now;” He murmured, glancing upward “Huh, pretty clever actually, the tree canopies disperse the smoke so it’s way harder to see from up-high and afar, bout the only problem I see would be the smell, so the smaller the fire, the better.” 

“Astounding, he got it in one, why Zuko hasn’t hired you as his personal advisor I will never know.” Azula patronizingly drawled, completely missing Sokka’s eye-rolling due to her own remaining shut “The position is also defensible,” She stated, talking business again, “there’s too much dead foliage to navigate a silent approach in darkness, especially among the thicker trees, but just in case this bandit is an experienced night stalker, which I doubt as such behavioral patterns defy his statusquo; I’ve set a number of early warning tripwires and other nasty little surprises in all but the rout I advised you return via;” Azula’s eyes snapped open and she was on her feet in the same blink, stating “A rout I shall cover while -you- cook.”

“Wow, you did all that in the short time I was gone?” Sokka breathed, reluctantly, grudgingly awed.

“Naturally, and I’m deeply offended that you’d expect anything less from me;” Azula crooned, thumbing her nose at him with a cold humorless smile “What was it I told you yesterday? That you'd be wise to broaden your expectations lest my constant defiance of them drown you in your own veneration; if anything you should thank me, because now your jittery nerves can rest a little easier while you sit first watch tonight.” 

“Yep, she’s back to her bossy, conceited self again; yippee.” Sokka thought sardonically, aloud though he was indigent “My nerves are not jittery!” Sokka crossed his arms and scrunched up his face, irked she’d discerned his unrest. 

“Hopeless.” Azula guffawed, shaking her head as she bent down and retrieved the unstrung tripwires and more thin wooden spikes lying at her side before moving into the dimming light beyond the fire, her footsteps absolutely silent despite the dead leaves everywhere “Utterly hopeless.” Her voice slithered softly from the darkness before vanishing entirely. 

Shivering, Sokka glanced back to the fire-pit, there he spied her alchemy supplies lying next to her; a mortar and pestle, thin vials of nasty looking liquids, probably poison, and a pouch of strange leaves and herbs. Spirits above, where had she acquired such things? A shop in town he’d not noticed?

“Oh, she’s a poisoner too; how fitting!“ Sokka squeaked inwardly, thinking “Guess she wasn’t joking about her old man sending her off with those special forces guys, this is exactly the kind of messed up shit their known for;” He shuddered “Yep, and just when I didn’t think she could get any scarier, next thing she’ll be telling me she’s some cloak and dagger assassin leaping from rooftop to rooftop cutting throats in the dark...Gah, what am I saying? She probably is an assassin.” 

He shuddered again and hobbled to the cooking pot above the glowing embers, distracting himself with meal preparations to dispel his uneasy concerns about his bounty hunting partner. Just what had he gotten himself into? Still, at least he had Hawky, though that being said, Hawky hadn’t checked in since yesterday morning, but that wasn’t anything new, mostly cause Sokka, eiter too soft-hearted or too lazy, or both, refused to maintain discipline over his winged companion the way the birdy trainers showed him after buying Hawky. Ever off on some grand adventure in the skies, hunting food, harrying pigeons and pooping on people and stuff, Sokka felt he was missing out and often wished he had wings too; if he did he’d fly away from this nutty princess with a suitably witty verbal jab of farewell. 

“And she’d just shoot you out of the sky; feathers vs fire? Uhhh-duh! Honestly, the mental gauntlets you subject me to running through; do you –ever- listen to your own thoughts; seriously?” Admonished his brain “…Huh? Oh sorry, I wasn’t listening.” 

Sokka was spared the dubious joy of starting an argument with himself when Azula returned from securing the perimeter, stalking from the darkness into the subdued campsite firelight on silent feet and in most timely fashion too as he was just now dishing up the potatoes, vegetables and, to his delight, dried beef sides. Unlike their silent breakfast they brainstormed strategies over a surprisingly tasty dinner, pausing only while they washed their dishes and fussed about the campsite before sitting by the fire again to resume their tactical debate.

Ultimately it was agreed that a night raid on the cave Sokka saw would be pointless due to lack of confirmation their target lurked within, plus climbing the slopes in the dark would be crazy and Azula Firebending to illuminate the way would give away their presence should Bogar be sitting sentry somewhere up there. Instead they decided to let Bogar wake up tomorrow thinking it just another ordinary day of wanton murder and plunder, he’ll disappear off to his lookout post leaving them free to investigate the cave and, should it show signs of habitation, either wait in ambush for Bogar’s lunchtime return, surprise then capture him with little struggle, or, ambush him at his lookout post, which might be tricky with him astride that spire.

Sokka took first watch as arranged; he sat with his back to the fire, irksomely reassured by Azula’s perimeter traps over those uneventful four hours, feeling oddly peaceful back among nature. He’d really missed camping out, the only thing missing were his sister and friends, though he hated sentry duty before Toph joined; three people, three shifts and the poor basted who took second watch had to sleep, wake up, stay awake three hours then fall back asleep again, and yes, second watch was always Sokka’s rotten luck back then, and while it was just him and Azula, meaning less sleep, it still beats second watch any day.

Unlike last night, Azula didn’t snore, an example Sokka hoped his sleep self would follow while out here, probably not though. Thirty minutes into the third hour Sokka almost dozed off; pinching himself awake, he sat out the remaining half hour. Astonishingly he didn’t need to wake Azula for her shift, she emerged from her tent right on time and they swapped places without a word. Sokka entered his tent which Azula had fixed, glad she’d also put his stuff inside too. He wriggled into his sleeping-bag, cuddling his thin pitiful excuse for a pillow close. His last thought before plunging into dreamland was of how weirdly comforting it felt having The Fire Princess herself standing guard just outside. 

“You just looove messing with me, don’t you world?” Sokka inwardly griped.

The distant eerie hoot of an Owl-Bat echoing through the still, cool night, as if answering on the world’s behalf, it sounded mocking, Sokka pouted; the nocturnal nuisance hooted again, it’s tone almost amused this time, at least until a sudden flash of subdued azure flared through his tent canopy, shortly followed by a pained far off screech, the ensuing silence that of sudden death, broken only by Azula grumbling something unflattering about nature.

“Well how about that?” Sokka thought drowsily “Azula don’t like birds.” No more epic daydream episodes of Sokka and Hawky’s winged adventures for him anymore, not after hearing that death cry; with any luck Bogar hadn’t heard it, or if he had, would jsut assume a hungry cat responsible; besides, the obnoxious Owl-Bat had it coming for mocking him; -hoot- indeed “Stupid Nature.” Sokka grumbled into his pillow.

Azula’s soft feminine snort scarcely phased his weary mind “You can say that again peasant.” But Sokka didn’t say it again as he was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sokka might come off as a bit of a jerk here since he doesn’t know how to deal with Azula, they are genuinely trying to get along, but being who they are, they can’t help but be jerks toward eachother, yet in an odd sense the jerkyness balances things out in a way false friendliness couldn’t, they vent frustration through conflict, they’ve simply not yet discerned how far they can push eachother, especially Sokka who can’t anticipate an asylum altered Azula’s turbulent moods and he is wavering between guilt over enjoying her company, respecting her intellect and habitually despising the person she was and partly still is while Azula is similarly conflicted and is also new to this form of socializing; thus their banter fluctuates between grudgingly playful, awkwardly uncertain and willfully insulting.
> 
> Yeah their out of character in plenty of way, I know, but it is what it is.


	3. Chapter 3

-Jin-Sing Woodlands: Early Morning-

Sokka awoke to the racket of someone shaking his tent “Up peasant, you’ve slept long enough and breakfast is already prepared; now get out here, time’s are wasting!” Azula commanded sharply and Sokka’s keen nose immediately detected the fragrant scent of toasted spice bread, the delicious kind with cheese and bacon chunks baked in. 

Now fully awake, Sokka clambered from his sleeping-bag into his shoes, having slept fully clothed, dressing was that simple. Seconds later Sokka burst tumbling through the tent flaps and was pleasantly surprised that not only had Azula done what she swore not to and actually cooked, but the gentle morning sunlight beaming between the trees confirmed she’d let him sleep an extra half hour “Weirdly considerate of her...” Sokka thought suspiciously “Maybe she dozed off mid-watch then let me sleep in long enough to twist the blame; yup, typical female.”

Once he was standing upright outside in the fresh air, Sokka suddenly realized how urgently he needed to piss, but accounting the wooden spikes and Azula’s other nasty campsite defenses, he’d been understandably reluctant to lose a foot daring last night’s darkness.

Bemusedly observing Sokka perform his silly little pee-dance, Azula, who was currently toasting spice-bread over a low burning fire, informed him she’d already disarmed the traps. Still reluctant, Sokka asked if she was sure, and looking slightly irritated that he thought her so incompetent, Azula assured him she’d kept careful count. Needing no further prompting, Sokka scampered off to the latrine he’d dug yesterday evening and charitably watered the dying woods.

When he returned, Azula absently handed him his plate of toasted spice-bread and fruit and they sat cross-legged on the ground with breakfast in laps; she’d even seasoned the bread with essence of garlic, to Sokka’s delight. He mentioned it, complemented her, Azula grunted indifferently behind a mouthful of spice-bread. 

Sokka rolled his eyes, snarking “Hrmph, and you criticize my table manners.”

“No table.” Azula corrected, still chrwing.

“You savage;” Sokka tittered, unable to keep a straight face trying to imitate that critical, accusatory tone she sometimes uses, 

Azula took it with grace, she looked almost amused “Just embracing a little culture peasant, you should try it next time you visit my country, broaden those bleak horizons of yours.”

“Already did; too smarmy for my taste.” Sokka replied, his tone mockingly chipper, closer to lilting.

“At least I don’t growl at my food.” Pointed look, smug smile. 

“Only cause you save that energy for growling at me; RROoowwW.” Sokka made a catty-growly sound with accompanying clawed hand gesture.

Azula tilted her head, gave him an odd look then as casually as one might comment on the weather, said “Your an idiot.”

Sokka snorted, shook his head and resumed eating, deciding it best to leave the banter at that lest he accidently say the wrong thing that brings back the scary Azula of last night. Nervously he glanced sideways at her just to be safe, no lightning storms brewing, good. Then he noticed she was already fully dressed in that new green and black outfit of hers, he wondered if, like himself, she’d slept fully clothed, boots, knives and all. By the looks of things she was already packed too; her tent was neatly stowed in her backpack with all her other supplies excluding the hair brush resting beside her, yeah she’d groomed and tied her hair back so it wouldn’t blow in her face while climbing. This meant the rest of the half dissembled campsite was Sokka’s own gear, the cooking utensils among them, cooking was after all his responsibility by Azula’s own decree; yet here she was, serving him breakfast...weird huh?

Multitasking, they debated tactical approaches from points they’d marked on the less than reliable map which hung pinned to the tree-trunk in front of them for study while they ate. Their extrapolations covered almost every logical time appeasing variable; accounting for weather, terrain, clouds and sunlight, visibility, time, etcetera-etcetera. They debated whether to split up and scout the rising ramparts of the slopes or simply just investigate the cave Sokka spotted yesterday and wait there in ambush for Bogar’s return should it show signs of occupation. They also noted the potential for dangerous wildlife on the slopes. Hadn’t Militia Captain Vaize mentioned Canyon-Crawlers? Sokka hated Canyon-Crawlers. 

It was an almost civil discussion between two accomplished strategists, and surprisingly Azula found she enjoyed debating tactical theory with the tribesman, despite his eccentricities and their endless arguing he generally offered good logical input on important details like stealthily and smartly traversing the slopes. Soon enough breakfast was eaten with all cooking apparatus washed then repacked and their brainstorming had gone well enough that both felt their spur of the moment partnership might actually succeed, that is until it came to the matter of who primarily captured the Earthbender. Put simply, the alchemy of boyish excitement mixed with ego and anticipation of his first bounty hunt was scrambling Sokka’s brains, much to Azula’s vexation.

“Brimming with misplaced confidence today aren’t we;” She chided wryly “And here I thought you’d confront this task with the same calm, logical circumspection with which you orchestrated the Black Sun Invasion, but instead I find myself burdened with a giggling idiot;” resignedly, Azula sighed “I think perhaps from now on I shall wear my disappointed face whenever you speak, that way I’ll save both time and my faith in humanity.”

“Now that was just uncalled for; sheesh, bitter much?” Sokka complained, trying to look offended “No, really, why shouldn’t I be confident? Bogar doesn’t sound all that bright, I mean come on, any old dope could’ve deduced he was staking out the roads into town for travelers from the slopes and using his Earthbending to cross the woods fast enough to ambush them in time; and ok, sure, the guy’s a half-decent Earthbender...”

“More than half-decent I’d wager.” Azula commented, downing the remnants of her bread.

“Pfft-so what? I’ve fought and out fox-hounded benders before; the power of body and bending has nothing on a powerful mind, and my mind’s as powerful as powerful gets.”

“Don’t vaunt until the bandit is actually crushed under your heel, or mine to be precise.” Azula admonished smugly.

“Personally I prefer to count un-hatched eggs in multiple baskets myself but...” Sokka mumbled, trailing off as the cryptic implication of Azula’s words sank in “W-wait a minute; under your heel? What’s that supposed to mean?!” He exclaimed, spittle flying.

Azula took a long draught from her canteen before replying “Let’s get one thing clear eskimo-boy; we’ll work together to track our target, but once we do, he’s mine. Comprende?”

“No! No comprende!” Sokka railed, brattishly demanding “Why?!”

“Because you’d only get in my way” Azula retorted with the strained patience of an adult lecturing a particularly petulant child “And yes, while you’re somewhat competent with a blade, a blade you don’t presently possess,” Pointed look “You’re still no match for –any- above average bender, which our target is if the bounty poster and that mass-grave are any indication.”

“Oh how touching,” Sokka crooned hysterically “The big bad Pwincess is concerned for my safety; maybe someone should tell her that Sokka can hold his own in any fight and to stop pretending to care about him.”

“Perhaps someone should tell Sokka to stop talking about Sokka in the third person, it’s irritating;” She bit back “And to clarify, I’m not pretending concern, nor could I care less about your well-being, however since ensuring your continued survival will ensure my continued freedom, as per my deal with ZuZu which states I will handle all bender related opposition, this means you will be taking your place on the sidelines should this mission come to open combat, which it will.” She glowered, daring an objection...Sokka dared.

“That’s not fair!” 

“That’s life;” Azula simpered, shrugging, smugly satisfied “And besides,” She amended, resuming examination of her fingernails “Seeing as my time in captivity, or recovery as ZuZu terms it, has substantially diminished my physical condition, I think this –Booger- character….”

“Bogar, his name, is Bogar!” Sokka exploded, throwing up his arms in exasperation “Sheesh, you don’t even know the name of the guy your hunting! Yeah, -reeeeeeal- professional”

“This, Bogar;” Azula corrected, unperturbed “Sounds just competent enough an Earthbender to pose my atrophied Firebending talents a moderately challenging refresher exercise to sharpen them back up to scratch.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing? Cause I can’t recall a single situation where your blue fire was a welcome sight.” 

“Nor should it be, fear and unwelcome are appropriate responses when faced with my fire; it gladdens me to know you understand that.”

“Exactly, and that’s all the more reason why it should be me who handles this guy;” Realizing his –rational- protests were falling pitifully short, Sokka tried a different tack “Alright-alright, fine, let’s just compromise instead and say we both work together to take him down...Sound fair?”

“No.” She replied distractedly, still examining her nails.

Sokka sighed, crossing his arms “Then you leave me no choice but to graciously refuse, your refusal.”

“And I refuse your refusal of my refusal, graciously.” She retorted, not even looking up.

“Oh-really? Well I refuse your refusal of my refusal of your refusal times infinity.”

Azula tutted “In that case, I must regretfully refuse your every refusal infinity times plus one for no takesies-backsies; Check, and, Mate.” She smirked.

“But...you can’t...d-damn it!” Sokka squeaked, knowing he’d lost this round. How does a spoiled Fire Princess even know the law of no taksies-backsies anyway? And why hadn’t he thought of it? And what did she find so damned fascinating about her nails? It was driving him mad, all of it “Gah, why must you be so insufferable?! Is it Family tradition? Royal custom? Sheesh, didn’t your parent’s ever teach you to share...ach, dumb question, of course they didn’t,” He raved, hurriedly amending “But that’s ok since hunting Bogar was my idea first, which means I’ve got dibs on the capture, so -pffffff- to your no taksies-backsies.” He poked his tongue out at her.

“Papa Avatar and Momma Fire Lord’s wishes overrule your feeble dibs I’m afraid, so suck it up and quit bitching at me, you sound like a squawking housewife eight months pregnant.”

Adamantly, stubbornly, Sokka balked, grit his teeth, face reddening “Wooaah-no, that’s not how it is, they never said I’m forbidden to fight benders, only that you’re supposed to back me up when I do, and as I just said, hunting Bogar was my idea first; and I don’t squawk!...” He squawked.

“Yes you do;” She retorted coolly “And having an idea first counts for nothing, any fool can decide to become a bounty hunter, I on the other hand am as much qualified a tracker and hunter as you are, perhaps more qualified –and-,” Raised finger “Like the bandit we hunt, I am also a bender, and -you- are...”

“And I’m not. Right?!” Sokka finished, angrily throwing up his arms.

“Well I was going to say -a useless buffoon-, but you make a good point.”

“That’s not...y-you benders are all the same!” Sokka whined “Aang, Toph and Katara always excluded me from the action simply cause I can’t throw around the elements like the spirits damned weather, and now you’re doing the same, but at least they tried to sugarcoat it with concern for my welfare, whereas your just plain insufferable! Oh and a bounty hog too.” He added glumly “Typical benders” He thought, recalling that whenever the others told him to hang safely back, what they really meant was they didn’t want him in the way while they played hero, as if he were some fragile, brain deficient invalid. Seriously, what gave them the right? What gives Azula the right? Always flaunting her so-called superiority, looking to tarnish his self-esteem; He’d had it!

“Oh dear, it’s a sob-story.” Azula sighed dejectedly; usually she was good at reading people, but she simply couldn’t discern the long-term goals motivating this fool’s new career choice. Did he even have any? And if so, what were they? Money? Glory? Timewasting? Or does he just have something pointless to prove? Like that he, a non-bender, is the equal of his friends? How pathetic “All so very heartbreaking I’m sure, but your insecurities are immaterial; the Earthbender is mine, and that peasant, is that.” She stated coldly.

Sokka rose, waving away her control-freak declaration like a smelly fart “Fine, I never wanted your help anyway! That’s right, I can catch this guy by myself easy-peasy, just you watch!”

“As you wish peasant; but of course terminating our arrangement voids my obligation to support you against hostile benders and leaves me free to claim this bounty for myself; meaning –no- splittsies.” She grinned wickedly, rising also

Sokka growled “You stay away from my bounty!”

“Careful, peasant,” She growled back, voice sharp and razor thin.

“I have been, I’ve tried to be nice and polite and pretend I don’t know what a psychotic blue fire throwing freak you are! I didn’t reject your company even though I never asked you to come ruin my adventure, but instead of being grateful, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my butt since we started, so do us both a favor and go home to your loony-cage, CRAZULA!”;” Boldly, Sokka strode a step forward, snarling.

Feelings of rejection squirmed in Azula’s guts like parasites. Why did she care about some filthy peasant’s opinion? How dare he judge her, especially after she’d tried so hard to play fair and get along with him, not as friends but as a courtesy, even letting slip his myriad death deserving offenses, all to test the tolerability of a life socializing with commoners. She’d been a fool. 

“Say –another- word...” Azula hissed, concentrated icy malice settling behind her smoldering amber stare, attacking his resolve.

“And you’ll what? Burn me? Kill me? Yeah, Zuko’d love that” Sokka raved, thinking “Oh how typical, she’s already threatening me; but that’s fine, if she wants to play it that way then maybe it’s time to remind her who’s really in charge here and that her –precious bending- isn’t so untouchable.” In no spoken words Zuko entrusted Sokka the task of keeping Azula in line, and Sokka knew Azula knew the consequences for harming or killing him would demand that which she could never willingly sacrifice, thus Sokka intended to manifest her fear as his authority.

Seeing his resolute expression, Azula’s voice grew dangerously sonorous “Think –very- carefully, upon what you say next -Water Savage-.” 

Yeah, he didn’t 

“You think you’re -sooo- intimidating don’t you? But you know what Princess? Maybe I’ll go tell Aang and Zuko you attacked me just for the laughs I’ll get when Aang Spiritbends you into obscurity. You won’t be so high and mighty then, will you, huh?” Obviously he’d never do it and he felt rotten saying it, but it needed saying “And don’t think they’ll listen to your side, my word’s worth way more to them than your lies. And you know why? Huh Crazula? Because nobody likes yo-URPH!” The spin-kick that struck the side of Sokka’s jaw flashed from nowhere and left him flat on his back daylight stargazing “Ahhooowww, why’d I go get carried away like that?...And why am I still alive?” He wondered groggily.

Azula’s black steel-capped boot was suddenly compressing his windpipe, he couldn’t breathe and no amount of feeble scrabbling remedied the issue “The only reason your still alive, you smelly little eskimo;” Voice alarmingly soft, she leaned forward, looked him in the eye, her boot pressing harder with the motion “Is because I value my freedom more than I’d enjoy watching the life fade from your big, blue, terror-filled eyes...but only just;” Sokka shuddered, her white toothy smile could’ve chilled a volcano yet her hot smoky breath on his bluing face almost burned “So threaten me at your own peril and leave portents of my brothers retribution and your Avatar’s Spiritbending out of it;” She increased the pressure, hissing “My life, is my life. Are we clear?”

Sokka gurgled unintelligibly, it sounded antagonistic, Azula pressed down harder, causing his vision to dim and a lightheadedness to take root, both worrying signs.

“Are...we...clear?!” Azula sibilated, her eyes smoldering like hot coals. Realizing her severity, the appropriate response was obvious, Sokka nodded emphatically and she stepped back, scowled in disgust then strode off, leaving him to cough and wretch in dizzying spasmodic pain among the leaves while she stuffed her remaining possessions in her pack. The last he heard from her before she melted into the surrounding woods was “Our partnership is over, the bandit is mine; normally I’d advise you to run crying after your sister like the whipped snow-pup you are, but since your bullheaded enough to continue braying at the gates of futility like a deranged jackass I’ll simply give you this one warning; -don’t- get in my way!”

Dizzy from the blow to the head and the coercive strangulation, Sokka just sat for a time recovering his equilibrium and massaging his hurts. Azula’s parting words hung on the air like bad omens, the unspoken –or else- or her warning required no conveyance, his throbbing jaw did that just fine. Even so, Sokka still couldn’t believe how fast their amiable breakfast had escalated to violence, any more sudden and he might’ve suffered whiplash; but that’s how arguments work sometimes, starting before people even realize there’s trouble a-cooking.

Azula wasn’t kidding about preserving her freedom though, she’d not put much power behind her kick, it’d stunned him more than anything, and the neck crushing part wasn’t much fun either. Most surprising however was she’d kicked his tent over before storming off, surprising because Azula wasn’t one to indulge such pettiness unless it served to benefit her somehow. But then he reminded himself Azula isn’t exactly who she’d been two years ago, and threatening her like he had, not his brightest or kindest idea. But how was he supposed to handle her? Just roll over and obey her every demand like a good boy? There’s simply no compromising with her, it’s always Azula’s way or the blue fire way. How could he contend with that?

Even so, Sokka resolved he wouldn’t tell Zuko that Azula assaulted him, not because she scared him, which she did, but because he’d stupidly provoked her, see much as the admission stung his pride, his aching jaw was deserved; though the strangling...not so much. She’d wanted to hurt him, needed to, he’d seen it in her eyes, her struggle with some nameless raging anguish threatening to pull her under the waters of blackest madness, scary stuff; thankfully though her self-control prevailed. Oh he harbored no illusions that Azula’s concern for his wellbeing stretched beyond the conditions permitting her freedom, yet maybe, just –maybe- this show of restraint meant she was improving “Improving? Now there’s a bad case of wishful thinking if ever you caught one.” His wounded ego grumbled.

Whatever the reality, in but a few hours either he’d get Bogar, Bogar would kill him, or Azula would steal his wind. Seriously, what was Princess Prissy’s problem? Opting to capture Bogar solo wasn’t fair. Sokka would’ve happily compromised for even rolls, and operating as a team –was- her idea to begin with “Me and my big mouth.” He sulked, rising to stand on shaky legs and taking deep breath to steady himself.

Nerves calmed, wits recovered, mind reoriented and raring to make up lost time, Sokka scampered around the upturned campsite, unceremoniously rolling up his tent, pegs and all and stuffing them into his pack with everything else. Next Sokka buried the fire-pit, piling in all the dirt Azula shoveled out to build it, thereby masking the evidence of people camping here; good enough to fool an inattentive hiker he judged, but not a trained eye. Normally he’d have been more thorough, but all he could think about was beating Azula to Bogar then rubbing her nose in her failure to outwit some –smelly eskimo-, truly Sokka would trade all the world’s food and wealth merely for the joy he’d derive from seeing an expression of shameful defeat on her pretty porcelain face “Then stop daydreaming and make it happen!” 

Sokka retrieved Boomerang and Mr Clubby, sheathing them at his back. Both were like old friends and he wielded each expertly, yet in Space Sword’s mournful absence he felt shorthanded. Before leaving he also scooped up a thin, relatively straight tree branch two thirds his height and, using his knife, sharpened one end into a spearhead as he walked. The spear, while not his preferred weapon, was still versatile; it could thrust, slash, cut and even pierce armor given a proper steel point and enough push. Spears aren’t balanced for throwing like javelins, but they are handy for non-combat applications like supporting your tent, fishing or covert scouting markers. Sokka however wasn’t carving an ineffectual spear but rather a clever prop purposed to diminish him in Bogar’s eyes. After all, what sane person confronts an Earthbender with such a shoddy weapon? And without Space Sword, fighting Bogar would be tricky; luckily Sokka was born tricky. 

Nevertheless, Azula had stolen the lead, so he’d concentrate on outpacing her first then worry about Bogar.

…………………………..

-Jin-Sing Woodlands & Krovine Slopes: Early-Mid Morning-

Eager to catch Bogar, Sokka kept a brisk, un-stealthy yet cautious pace as breaking a leg on a jutting rock or root didn’t really appeal to him. Walking the narrow clearing between the wildly snaking tree-line and the long towering rock-face of the Krovine slopes, he couldn’t help taking in the Autumn beauty of these woods; falling leaves, fresh air, insects chitterling, morning sunlight beaming golden through the tree canopies; it reminded him of the old days camping out with the gang “Old days? What am I; Seventeen or seventy?” 

While scouting yesterday, Sokka noticed a gradual decrease in the first level ridgeline’s elevation the further south he crept, almost like a ramp. This decline seemed to continue further than he’d scouted which made him think there might be a fully accessible –no need to break your neck climbing- ramp roughly another kilometer south, though he couldn’t be sure as the trees had blocked his view and the sketchy hand duplicated map Azula had ungraciously stolen wasn’t a reliable sauce on the matter. Still he’d mentioned his ramp theory to Azula yesterday and she’d taken it on board, which, he thought mischievously, might work in his favor. 

Sokka guessed Azula, methodical thinker she is, would check his theory’s credibility; if the ramp existed then she, believing Sokka unworthy competition, would arrogantly waste time ramp searching instead of risking her precious fingernails rock-climbing, and considering she wants a straight up bending brawl to test herself, stealth and surprise would be pointless, yeah, she’d take her time. Sokka however aimed to cancel out Azula’s head start and gain his own by following the slanting ridge until he found a safe way to climb up. Azula underestimates his competency, and his zeal. 

Following the cliffs south, Sokka confirmed the ridgeline overhead was indeed slanting gradually downward the further he traveled. Back when he left camp fifteen minutes ago, the ridgeline had been over twenty meters high, and that twenty became fifteen when he reached the point he’d spotted the vine covered cave yesterday. There, Sokka retreated back beyond the treeline to improve upward view, and yes, his eyes hadn’t lied, the cave was there and more discernible in the daylight despite its innocuousness, but he’d vertically misjudged its location because there it sat, on the second level rampart maybe thirteen meters above the first level ridge which itself towered fifteen meters above him. His miscalculation was understandable, lying down here among the scrub late yesterday evening staring up the combined thirty meters of two cliff-faces that resembled one giant rock-wall, it’s amazing he’d spotted the cave at all.

“Man, Azula’s gonna go apoplectic when she finds out I fed her inaccurate information, hehehe.” That thought cheered him right up, the fact he hadn’t yet found a safely climbable rout didn’t even bother him, well not until he remembered Azula doesn’t have to climb when a little Firebending is all she needs to fly with the birdies; he wished she’d fly into the sun and die “Stuck up cow-hippo; thinks she’s better than me.” Yeah, his head still throbbed from meeting her stupid boot and it occurred to Sokka that rock-climbing so soon after meeting said boot might not be a bright idea, but oh well.

Continuing south proved wise as five minutes later the first level ridgeline hung barely ten meters above, though the jaggedly inconsistent skyscraping multileveled bulk of the Krovine slopes still loomed ominously way above the woods like a long spiky-spined monster “Why do they call em slopes? Slopes are supposed to be slopey, not cliffy; and that’s another thing. How am I supposed to get an unwilling prisoner off these cliffs and back through the woods?” It was a dilemma he and Azula hadn’t resolved before their dividing argument “Hope I’m right about that ramp...Hmm, maybe if I ask Bogar –reeeal- nice, he’d kindly Earthbend us a way down. I mean Bandits can be reasonable guys, right?” Sokka wasn’t discouraged, he’d solved worse problems, lacking a ramp he’d just have to get creative and improvise; a skill Katara greatly undervalued. 

Just when Sokka thought he’d be seeking the ramp access after all, good fortune presented him his shortcut, or specifically a funny looking outcrop of ramshackle stair like indentations rising sideways up the cliff-face, they wore a natural camouflage of roots vines and dying moss which rendered them inconspicuous to a passing glance but not to his sharp eyed scrutiny.

Observationally, the first level’s winding cliffside path looked pretty narrow, but from this low angle it would. Still, Sokka felt confident in his climbing skills and immediately got to it, half climbed half scrambled up. The –steps- were steep, narrow, uneven, cracked, crooked, some didn’t even resemble steps, but none crumbled beneath his weight plunging him to a splatty death which was a plus in Sokka’s book; it also left no doubt in his mind these slopes had, at the very least, been shaped by Earthbenders long passed. 

Exhaustive work it was, lengthy, exhaustive and dangerous. Sokka knew he could’ve made better time without his heavy pack, it’s concentrated weight at his back made the climb quite treacherous if he proportioned his weight badly, and having to juggle his lousy makeshift spear didn’t simplify his job either as it was too long and unwieldy to clip to his back, he nearly tossed it away several times in frustration. In the end however his determination, unshakable concentration and prior experience got him up there quickly enough, with Boomerangs help to create occasional handholds of course, and before he knew it he was heaving himself up over the cliff’s edge snake-belly style. A few seconds Sokka simply laid there, a sweaty heavy breathing heap until he got his second wind, rose, and soldiered on.

 

………

-Krovine Slopes: Mid-Morning-

A White-gray stone world consuming all color but the blue sky above was really all that could be said for atmosphere up here on The Krovine Slopes, yet Sokka knew these rising ramparts are but the doorsteps to the true Badlands hidden beyond the comparatively pitiful natural walls which the slopes formed. Militia captain Vaize described that desolate wasteland as a vast system of rising cliffs, steep sparse canyons, underground caverns, avalanche stymied passages, stinking tar-pits and maddeningly maze like stalactite-stalagmite forests of rock formations not far removed in resemblance to the molting woodlands below “It’s the gaping maw of death infested from crack to crevice with Canyon-Crawlers, large Scorpion-Cheetahs, larger chameleon-spiders, hives of giant Stiletto-Wasps, Death-Lanterns and countless other notorious predators all warring for territorial dominance.” Vaize had ranted; a real cheery guy that Militia Captain, about as cheery as the place he described; Sokka hoped his hunt didn’t lead there, though he’d not object if Azula’s did, heck with her ten mile wide morbid streak she’d blend perfectly into such a bellicose environment.

Fortunately those particular wastelands lie beyond the jagged rocky peaks several levels above, the only bad news is if Sokka couldn’t find Bogar’s hideout, he’d have to confront the bandit at his lookout point since setting an ambush in an unoccupied cave would be almost as stupidly pointless as scouring several hundred miles of an unmapped, unfamiliar, baron, inhospitable, suicidal canyon-crawler infested multi-maze of notoriously murderous wildlife ridden terrain with only a few days food and water rations that’d doubtlessly be gobbled up by whatever freaky beasty first gobbles him up “Now who’s being cheery?...”

The cliffside path he walked varied between a five and nine meter width; to his left was the drop to the dying woodlands far below and on the right stood another even taller rock-face rising to the second level rampart, though at least the further he walked up this one the lower that one got. As he moved, concerns swarmed Sokka’s mind. Was he mistaken about the cave? Now he was up here he couldn’t deny the possibility. From ground level it all looked so simple, one cliff rising up on the shoulders of another. Sokka wouldn’t dissemble though, he remained certain this cave existed. After all, where better for a murderous Earthbending highwayman to hunker down within quick travel-bending distance of his lookout spire.

About five minutes later Sokka stood below that –very real- cave, the snaking cliff path he walked allowing him a very clipped yet sunshine sure view of its large vined entrance a fair distance up. Sokka saw no safe means to climb up from here, but he didn’t mind taking the long way, the cool breeze and warm sunshine soothed his impatience sublimely; not that he stopped shortcut searching, not when he had a princess to shame. He found no shortcuts, though he did notice the same rotting brown vines concealing the cave also clung in infrequent clearly unclimbable knots to the cliff-face; odd given the climate, but irrelevant. 

Thankfully the above ridge sloped lower marginally faster than the one he walked had, thus Sokka had only to trudge a few minutes more before –finally- the intersection between paths appeared. As he started up the second rampart, Sokka marveled at the breathtaking view of Jin-Sing and the surrounding golden fields of vast farmlands beyond the woods, and the distant flock of birds silhouetted in morning sunlight circling and cawing only enriched the countryside’s natural beauty. Still, despite being part of the landscape, Sokka understood why nobody visited these treacherous cliffs; up here flora cannot flourish, water is scarce and whenever stone cracks and crumbles, the ominous echo carries far; oh and Canyon-Crawlers, don’t forget Canyon-Crawlers, those nasty buggies infest Earth Kingdom badlands like these; sure an Earthbender worth half his weight in stone could handle them, though whether they made for good eating Sokka couldn’t say; perhaps he’d ask Bogar when he caught him as that kind of survival info might save his life someday. 

“Only you would question the edibility of the world’s deadliest wildlife while there’s still food in your backpack” Katara would’ve chided. Sokka sighed, regretting the way they’d parted two days ago; he hadn’t meant to snap at her, but sometimes Katara could be just so...so motherly; but she meant well, and he’d been a real jerk “Ah shucks, I miss her already, Aang and Toph too; heck, I even miss Fire Lord grumpy pants, just a little.”

Rounding a gentle bend in the path, the soft scuff of hard-souled boots on gritty stone a dozen yards ahead startled Sokka out of his reflective daydreaming with a healthy shot of reality inducing adrenaline he shouldn’t have needed to begin with. What was wrong with him? This was a bounty hunt, not a leisurely weekend walk. Now the Status-quo had inverted, Sokka’s prey had found him, for there, blocking the road not ten paces ahead stood the bandit, Bogar himself. 

Five-eleven, stockily built, equal parts fat and muscle, filthy shoulder length black hair with matching unkempt beard, weather-beaten face, pockmarked cheeks, the bounty poster’s profile sketch was remarkably accurate, though his eyes weren’t nearly as menacing and creepy as his portrait’s, intense perhaps, like a war-hardened warrior’s, but not exactly evil “Stop humanizing the bad guy Sokka, he’s a bad guy!” Refocusing, Sokka noted the worn twin-hatchets on Bogar’s belt, they showed evidence of liberal use yet remained well honed, much like the aged yet serviceable cuirass and tattered green vestments Bogar wore which were as dirty as the bandit was stinky, but Sokka knew all too well that bathing isn’t a luxury fugitives enjoy “Aw-cmon, quit sympathizing with the guy and just clout him already!” One thing was clear though; Bogar’s armor and boots were Earth Kingdom military issue, an exact match for the footprint he’d discovered by the tree-line yesterday.

“You;” Sokka breathed, beaming ecstatically “Haha-oh man, this is great, I can’t believe I actually found you first; pfff-so much for the great Fire Nation Huntress.” he snickered, grinning stupidly at Bogar who merely tilted his head in puzzlement, looking strangely nonplussed about his uninvited guest as a gritty knot of hair fell across his face; he shook it away.

“What do you have to be so happy about? This ain’t no reality I’d be celebrating in your shoes lad.” Bogar stated dryly, his voice, though gravelly, wasn’t openly hostile, more like disquietingly affable. 

“Then lucky for me you’re not in my shoes, cause I sure wouldn’t want to be in yours right now.”

“I don’t even wanna be in my shoes boyo, but here we are.” Well how about that, a bandit with an existential streak “And judging by the weapons and travel pack your humping about, I’ll assume you’re not some long lost relative come to say hi.” 

“I’ll be your favorite uncle Lee and give you all the Fire Flakes in the world if you’ll just surrender peacefully and let me escort you to the Jin-Sing lockup.” Sokka quipped, that old Water Tribe whit sharp as ever.

Bogar blinked, then grinned “How did you know my uncle’s name was lee? Done your homework have you?”

“Uh, yeeeeah; can’t bounty hunt without homework.” Sokka cunningly improvised, a little startled himself “How many Lee’s are there anyway?”

“Not bad, shows initiative, though if you’d dug a little deeper you’d know I abhor my uncle Lee;” Catching Sokka’s look, Bogar explained “He beat my aunt regularly.”

Sokka blinked “Uh; sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be, I hated her too.”

“Why? Cause she beat your uncle right back?” Another gem of Water Tribe spunk, he was on a roll today.

“Nope, she could’ve, but didn’t?”

“Could’ve?” Sokka prompted, now detachedly intrigued.

“Put it this way; one’s a Earthbender, one isn’t. Can you guess which one’s the Earthbender”

“Uhm, your uncle?” Sokka purposely guessed wrong in the tactical hopes Bogar will underestimate his intelligence.

“Huh, so much for homework.” Bogar scoffed, not with derision, but pity, much to Sokka’s chagrin as they both smiled slightly with awkward yet companionable mirth; yeah, it was a weird moment.

For such a wild looking fella, Bogar seemed quite a reasonable guy, if a tad morbid; probably just a beguiling –Lull-N-Trap- style front Sokka decided as the bandit clearly grasped the tactical windfalls of a disarming personality, an affectation that, along with that tidbit about his uncle, could be explained by his accent, because despite the distortion of other cultural influences, it unmistakably originated from the Ba-Sing-Se mean-streets, and in it Sokka heard all the struggles of the man’s youth to survive in the cutthroat world of the poor and downtrodden. This was a ruthless man, a survivor, all the more proof things are never as black and white as they first seem. Still, this guy wasn’t anything Sokka and his trusty Boomerang couldn’t handle, though he did briefly feel bad for Bogar, obviously life had dealt him a crappy hand, but it still doesn’t excuse his crimes, thus returning Sokka to why he was here. 

He’d make it quick, knock him out, tie him up and frog march him back into town at knifepoint to discourage any Earthbendy shenanigans, and thanks to Toph’s endless pranks, he knew most of the signs to watch for. First though, the knocking out part, So, doing what he should’ve done the moment Bogar appeared, Sokka, as taught during his swordsman’s apprenticeship, assessed his surroundings. To himself, nothing particularly advantageous field wise; to Bogar however “Well let’s see, stone cliffs, stone path, big fall onto more stone; my confidence is skyrocketing, aww-yeah tremble oh terrible Earthbender, before the might of Boomerang Guy.” Even Sokka’s thought processes were 90% sarcasm; as to the 10% sincerity “I miss Space Sword.” Yep, there it is, reluctant and unhelpful as ever. 

Despite his internal grumbling Sokka kept his cool, indeed as they bantered he’d been shuffling little baby-steps closer to his target, making mental calculations on distance for Boomerang’s next mission and formulating anti-Earthbender strategy. Sadly, for non-benders like himself, such strategies were scarce, especially here on these accursed slopes. He’d been stupid blundering up here, such hotheadedness is Zuko’s style, not his. Oh well, too late for regrets, he’d do fine, he’d just have to fight smart, he’d always said brains trump bending, time to prove it.

“Not to sound ungracious;” Bogar resumed more seriously, aware of Sokka’s subtle maneuvering “But much as I’ve grown to appreciate civilized conversation living alone up here, perhaps it’s time you and I get on with the formalities of our rolls.”

“Rats,” Sokka pouted “And here I was hoping my dazzling charisma and winning personality would convince you to come along peacefully.” 

“And a good try it was too lad...but no.”

“Well in that case...” Sokka sighed melodramatically and straightened “On behalf of the Jin-Sing authorities, I, in my capacity as a bounty hunter, am here to apprehend and convey your person to jail with the other criminal scum confined there in;” He declared with an unrehearsed authoritativeness likely gleaned after hearing so many of Aang’s crazy public speeches “So surrender now and come along willingly, or we’ll do this the hard way.”

Bogar cocked his head, simpering “You’re not very good at this are you?”

“Well it is my first day so cut me some slack would you; and a little constructive criticism wouldn’t hurt either.” Sokka snapped irritably, forgetting his anger at the bandit’s disrespect of the victims dumped like so much garbage in that mass grave Azula found.

“Hmmmm,” Bogar looked thoughtful “If you drop the self-righteous –for the good of mankind- speech; maybe...actually, on second thoughts, just drop the whole speech like you should drop your target the moment you lay eyes on-em”

“Oh, you mean like this?!” In an instant Sokka terminated their dialogue with a not so sneaky –Sneak Attack- but hey, at least he didn’t verbally announce it as such this time.

Like lightning Sokka launched his boomerang before the bandit could adopt a bending stance, but Bogar merely leaned aside, curiously familiar with the weapon’s function as he tracked its course with one eye while keeping the other carefully trained on Sokka. Sokka noticed this however and instead of predictably rushing the bandit with his club, he cleverly exploited Bogar’s divided attention by doing the unexpected and threw his makeshift spear like a javelin while his now unoccupied Boomerang arm drew his club. It was a bad throw and the carved tree limb, like most real spears, wasn’t balanced for throwing, but Sokka didn’t intend for it to connect, it was just a ploy to confound; and confounded Bogar was, abandoning whatever Earthbending skullduggery he was midway through motioning to dodge what needed no dodging. By then however Sokka was already charging hard and fast, club poised. Startled, Bogar renewed his bending effort, but the bandit forgot about Boomerang whose return spin Sokka had timed to strike moments before he closed into the melee. 

It worked, sort of; however with the war over and Space Sword lost, Sokka lately hadn’t the time or inclination to train, and his laxity resulted in two slight miscalculations. Firstly boomerang came back a heartbeat quicker than anticipated, and secondly it struck Bogar’s armored back instead of the knockout headshot Sokka sought, hence allotting Bogar time enough to recover and catch Sokka’s descending club, rotate and then simultaneously disarm and toss the miffed tribesman martial arts style over his shoulder. 

Thankfully disorientation didn’t fuddle Sokka’s wits and he reflexively rolled into the tumble then back to his feet, gaining some distance. He wondered how such a tall, chunky guy could be so nimble; Earthbenders aren’t agile dancers, their supposed to be immovable as their element. So typical Sokka thought irritably; he decides to take up bounty hunting and his personal albatross, namely this ever spiteful world, immediately changes the natural order of things just to screw him over. Damn his arrogance, Azula was right; swordless, peacetime softened and so driven to beat her to the catch without caution or preparation, she’d predicted his blunder and blundered he had. He’d never credit her it though, his ego wouldn’t survive that even if he survived this, and the bandit’s next actions did nothing to illuminate that bleak outcome on the darkening horizon of his future. If only Space Sword were here; if only...if only.

Seeing Boomerang lying on the ground a few meters ahead, about half way between him and Bogar, Sokka made a desperate lunge for it without thinking, and Bogar, noticing his intent, Earthbent a small ankle-high bump in the path that had Sokka faceplanting before he’d taken one step, but a history of clumsy stumbling had taught him how to flow with the fall and he was able to scrabble upright almost immediately, and just in time too. 

“No,” The bandit chortled, snarling “Like this!” Echoing Sokka’s own smug repartee, Bogar stomped, threw an arm forward and Sokka frantically found his feet punctually enough to dive aside the none too subtle head-sized clump of mountainside pathway that whooshed scant inches past his left ear. A textbook Earthbender attack, but an attack, Sokka realized too late, intended to make him evade exactly so. Sokka’s dive conveyed him in what –he- thought the safest direction, that being toward the rock-face which rose to the third level rampart high above; only he was wrong and his dive plopped him straight into the path of the large uneven section of that same cliff-face which slid out and began shoving him inexorably toward the great drop off the path’s edge, and stuck sliding painfully on his backside as he was, Sokka couldn’t avoid it, the section of cliff was simply too big to roll clear of, too tall for him to climb atop and so implacable it kept him too unbalanced to even stand, let alone pursue any counteraction. 

Blue eyes wide, bulging and wild, Sokka flailed like a fish out of water, only now remembering what it meant to fear for your life. Bogar’s move reminded him of the nail-biting moments in those adventure stories where the group of tomb-raiders find themselves on a narrow ledge and one of them steps on a trigger-tile, causing sections of the wall to slide out, intending to push them off the ledge into something nasty, like a black pool of Croco-Gators, or Electric Puffer-Eels, or Sea-Hoarse-piranhas. Unlike the heroic scoundrels in those colorful tails however, Sokka didn’t have a wise old wizard to magic his problem away, nor a practical minded Earthbender to save the day, nah, that roll just had to go to the guy trying to kill him; trying and succeeding because for some illogical reason the colorful obscenities Sokka was spewing didn’t cow the pushy stone block or grant him mystical flying abilities when he finally went tumbling over the ridge with an anguished, regretful howl of outrage. 

Falling, falling, that was what he knew next, his senses scattered in the merciless whirlwind battle between the sky and cliff-face as they spun, collided and rebounded in every direction around him. He couldn’t believe this, defeated so easily, and by such a grouchy lout too, how embarrassing. Why hadn’t it occurred to him to throw off his heavy pack before invoking the conflict so he could move faster? Had he left his brain in Appa’s saddle or something? Why did the world hate him so much? This was so unfair, and now he was almost sure he was about to die, at least that was his firm belief before he heard the shifting of stone and something dead, brown and leafy snagged his pack which bare milliseconds ago he’d been cursing. It was a solitary half dead cluster of vines barely clinging to the rock-face that’d tangled in his pack-straps, they were dried out and nowhere near strong enough to support his weight for long, but they did briefly halt his fall. Desperately Sokka clung to them, squeezing his eyes shut, hearing them creek in protest of their unwanted burden. 

“Please hold vines; I’m too handsome to die.” Sokka made a pitiful squeaking sound in his throat that he’d have found comical coming from anyone else who wasn’t him. He didn’t want to look down but he forced himself to, and blinked, his cheeks burning red. Okay, he was still fifteen meters above the rampart below, only that wasn’t the cause of his embarrassment, no, that honor went to the small rocky ledge jutting from the cliff a mere hand-span below his scrabbling feet. Wait, that couldn’t be right, his depth perception had to be shot from the fall...Suddenly, the vines snapped and he slid helplessly down the rock-face, thinking it was finally over when not an instant later he flopped onto that -very real- ledge in an undignified heap, hugging it for dear life.

Once the directions up and down settled back into their natural places, Sokka cracked an eye open, reflexively analyzing his situation. The ledge wasn’t exactly spacious or comfortable, sticking almost two meters out of the cliff-face with a more generous three meter width it was unnaturally rectangular. All that really mattered to him though was it felt solid enough to bare its newly acquired load. Glancing up, Sokka was a little surprised to discover he’d only fallen three or four meters, he could have sworn he’d plummeted twice that; in fact it’s lucky he snagged the rotting vines now laying tangled about him, because even this shortened fall could’ve aggrieved him with worse pains than the scrapes and bruises he currently bore 

“Gee, rescued by dead foliage, thanks a bunch Mother Nature.” He sniffed, thanklessly disentangling the vines and tossing them off the ledge like unwanted trash as he shakily stood, trying to puzzle something out and doing a lousy job of it in his slightly tremulous state. Something about this ledge, its smooth surfaces, it’s surgically-exact rectangular shape and the fact he didn’t recall seeing it in that pants-peeing moment of being shunted off the ridge, it’s non-existence a flash before the world became a spinning-top. 

Sokka shook himself, no time for diversionary excogitating, Bogar was still up there and it wouldn’t be long before the bandit began playing a game of extreme vertical mountainside bowling, Earthbender style. Sokka wasn’t sure what he could do either, weaponless, stranded, it was over and he knew it. Then, as if on cue, the scraggly bearded bandit was there peering down at him over the ridge, not far up yet well beyond Sokka’s vengeful hands.

“Huh, looks like you’re not the only one with bad timing today; I was hoping to knock you flying into the woods with that ledge, not catch you on it;” Bogar chortled “I’ve never seen a man fly before; pity.” 

‘No way, lady luck hates me –way- too much to let me die that easy.” Sokka drawled, playing the confident funny man to disguise just how rattled he actually was.

“I know the feeling;” Bogar snorted amusedly, quipping “so, how’s the view down there?”

“Oh it’s absolutely wonderful,” Sokka exclaimed with a truly masterful cocktail of angry sarcasm “Why don’t you take a swan-dive and see for yourself.”

“If repartee is an art form, then you sir, are an artist; but I’m afraid you’ll need more than linguistic finesse to disencumber your present spate of adversity;” Bogar chuckled, taunting “No way up, no way down, better hope you got lots of rations in that pack cause it’s the reason your attack plan failed, slowed you down too much see;” He lectured with smug condescension “But don’t look so glum, you nearly had me there;” Bogar sighed melodramatically, appending “If only –nearly- were nearly enough, eh?”

When all else fails and death is certain, be bold, true warriors adjure no clemency “Oh spare me the hindsight and just do it if you’re going to do it! Come on, drop a big rock on my head, right here;” Sokka taunted, slapping his pate “It’ll hurt way less than hearing you waffle on; seriously, if I wanted to be lectured and victimized I’d have left with my friends instead of chasing you down!”

“If you rave at your friends the way you’re raving at me, it’s any wonder they give you grief.”

“Hey, you haven’t got any grounds to judge me on anything, mur-der-er!.” Yeah, Sokka was in one of his moods “Now either kill me or let me be on my way;” He lied, fully intending to throttle the bandit at first opportunity “Either way I’m not begging for my life, so you can just forget it if that’s what your waiting for sicko.”

“Oh-I could kill ya,” Bogar conceded “But nah, I think I’ll leave ya there for now, come back every so often, laugh at ya some, spirits know I need a good laugh, it gets mighty boring up here, and watching you cry, beg and starve to death should cheer me right up; who knows, I might even feed ya.”

“Yeah, because guys who fill mass-graves are all heart, right?” Sokka snarled. 

“Actually it’s a garbage pit,” The bandit corrected so casually he could’ve been commenting on the weather “But don’t worry, you’re not –special- enough for the pit,” Something in Bogar’s smiling tone chilled Sokka; sedition, cold rage and something else, pride maybe “Besides,” Bogar continued more mildly “I’ve always wanted a pet bounty hunter; uh-well not really, but the idea’s mighty appealing...”

In a blur, Sokka drew his belt-knife and launched it spinning viciously upwards, it was a good throw, quick, professional, but Bogar had extraordinary reflexes and ducked back as it sailed past then reappeared laughing, completely unfazed. What a morning Sokka thought, he’d let his temper get the better of him twice now, and he’d just thrown away his only backup weapon “Stupid-stupid-stupid!”

“Ya missed meeee!” Bogar sang, sniggering “Nice trick though. Know any others?” Sokka growled and scowled in frustration “Can ye bark like a tiger-bat?” 

“Don’t you mean a wolf-lion? Tiger-bats don’t bark you ignorant troll, they squeak and purr, though I can understand why you got them confused because all I hear coming out your mouth right now is –squeak-squeak-squeak-“ Sokka wasn’t sure what he hoped to gain by provoking Bogar after losing his knife in his failed surprise attack, maybe if the bandit got angry enough he’d lose his balance and tumble off the ledge, unlikely, but not impossible, and positive thinking never hurts “Sheesh, I seriously overestimated your intelligence, it’s a wonder you even know which end food goes in and comes out of.”

Bogar gasped, feigned hurt “You wrong me, especially after I was smart enough to strand your sorry butt down there.” The bandit simpered

“So help me when I get back up there, what rotting teeth you have left will be taking the scenic route to a chamber-pot! I hope you get indigestion you malodorous, cookie cutting sack of murdering monkey ding-dongs, cause it’s...Ayeggg! HEY!” Sokka exclaimed as the ledge divided in two between his feet, sliding him into a very uncomfortable near-splits position before slamming back together again, dumping him on his can. Bogar mentioned needing a respite from boredom, and the bastard was getting his money’s worth if his hearty laughter were any signifier.

“You shriek like a girl stuck in a wagon full of rodents; think maybe I’ll call you Lassy from now on. Eh? Hehe.” 

“Do that and I’ll turn you into a squealing eunu-UEEEEKK.” Sokka squealed again as the ledge shuddered beneath him, he hugged the cliff, exclaiming “Okay, call me whatever you want, just quit heckling the ledge!”

“Attagirl Lassy, keeping a civil tongue isn’t so hard now is it?”

“Ha-ha, you’re a riot.” Sokka grumbled, voice flat and sullen . 

“And your ridiculous; I mean really lad, your almost a man-grown, and men don’t squeal like bug-eyed schoolgirls;” Bogar snorted “It’d be pitiable if it weren’t so spirits damned funny.”

“That’s me,” Sokka groaned, thoroughly deflated “The guy who lives to entertain others at his dignity’s expense. What else is new?”

“My condolences, people are seldom comforted to learn their true lot in life; you poor unfortunate sod;” Bogar sounded almost sympathetic, almost, the grinning bastard “Still, you win points for threat originality; hmm...” The bandit looked thoughtful, bad sign “Tell ya what, take the remaining daylight off to think up a real good insult, then lay it on me when I return this evening, if it’s derogative and vile enough, I’ll toss ya down some grub. How’s that sound?” 

“And if it ain’t?” Sokka challenged, derisively mimicking Bogar’s rough accent.

“And if it ain’t” He echoed glibly “Well, you’ll be dancing for yer dinner when I start tossing boulders down there.”

“Say what you like about my originality, but you sir, are a cliché, so cliché in fact that….”

“You’re wasting precious thinking time.” Bogar hummed in falsetto, turning to walk off.

“Hay, where are you going? I’m a warrior, you can’t leave me like this! It’s undignified!”

Bogar’s receding response was almost sing-song with mockery “Can do, want to, shall do, now doing, DONE!” And just like that Bogar was gone, his voice a fading sound, and miffed as he was, Sokka had to admit that, if nothing else, he liked Bogar’s style; easy, laid back, slow to anger, witty even; okay, the murderous sadistic streak wasn’t to Sokka’s taste, but nobodies perfect.

Something long, thin and wooden suddenly came sailing over the above ridge and Sokka recognized his makeshift spear plummeting to reacquaint itself with its woodland home. Apparently that damned bandit was claiming Boomerang and Mr Clubby as booty; guess he considers sharpened stick an unworthy addition to his armory “Pfft, typical bandit, so fussy.” Sokka huffed, silently swearing the moment he figured a way out of this mess, he’d reclaim his prized weapons; losing Space Sword had broken his heart, but Boomerang and Clubby were like childhood friends, he’d not stop until he rescued them from an unconscious or dead Bogar’s evil friend-napping clutches; that is, if he escaped this ledge intact “Well…I’m screwed.”

………………………  
(Mostly boring plot irrelevant info on Bogar’s past from here to chapter’s end; so feel free to skip it; I only wrote it cause its fun composing OC character histories.)

-Krovine Slopes; Mid-Late morning-

Before leaving, Bogar retrieved the lad’s Boomerang and club, he’d served with Water Tribe warriors and knew the sentimental and cultural significance the weapons represented; Bogar respected that and would return them to the lad later. Truthfully he had every intention of stranding the fool kid on that ledge; despite common opinion among Jin-Sing’s citizenry he wasn’t a bloodthirsty fiend, the lad was just an over-confident teen who made a silly career choice he in no way deserved to die for, nor did Bogar wish to extinguish such a young man and promising warrior’s life. Indeed the kid had potential; smart, creative, quick-thinking and skill-wise the equal of any tribesman Bogar had fought beside, just not skilled enough to afford his too cocky by half attitude, though he’d certainly inherited that Water Tribe spiritedness Bogar had always admired in their warriors along with their infamously canny humor. Bogar also retrieved the boy’s thrown knife, it’d been a good throw and if he hadn’t anticipated it, he’d be dead. Bogar didn’t bother with the makeshift javelin, just tossed it off the cliff, it’d clearly been an improvised diversionary weapon, it almost worked too, clever whelp, that opening attack was nothing short of tactical genius; lad just needs to work on his timing. 

For caution sake he’d lain low an extra day following the Avatar’s brief advent townside, but life must go on and routine does have its droll self-deluding comforts Bogar thought, clipping the lad’s weapons to his belt with his war-axe. Bogar liked the axe, more slaughter per-swing by sacrifice of a swords reach and defensibility; an ugly weapon for an ugly man doing ugly deeds, just his style. Bogar favored an exhilarating melee over the impersonal rock-chuckery Earthbending. But ultimately, for victory, for survival, you go with what works. With the weapons secured, he set off to man his lookout point whistling some tune he scarcely recalled, pausing only to Earthbend most of the stone back into the head-sized pothole he’d created during the scuffle; wouldn’t do to have an untidy home, and these slopes are home, a home Bogar took pride in. 

Another slow day today, like most, though the young tribesman’s attack was a refreshing break from routine. Still, strange a bounty hunter would seek him out so soon in the Avatar’s wake; nobody had tried in months. Coincidence? Perhaps; but the sky bison left quick as it arrived, which meant the Avatar was on a schedule, otherwise they might’ve stayed to resolve Jin-Sing’s bandit problem, and formidable Earthbender though he is, Bogar wasn’t stupid enough to combat the Avatar, or even his three companions, all of whom were master benders despite their age. Apparently there’s a fifth team member too, but public opinion pegs him as just some obscure, tagalong, no-note stable boy and lemur-sitting goofball “More than a stable boy I’d wager, not that he’ll get any credit standing in his friends shadows, poor guy; history loves it’s benders, anything less and you’re a footnote at best.” Bogar sighed, saddened “Actually he should be grateful, such obscurity is often envied by the famous; history isn’t kind to failed heroes; people look to them, idolize them, then turn on them for slipping up and proving their only human after all, punishing-em for being mortal……I should know….”

It was too sunny a day for sour moods, but the woeful memories came unbidden, clawing as they often do from their shallow sub-unconscious graves like the mythical undead of horror stories. Memories need exercise too Bogar thought ill-humoredly, like pet pups in need of walking, only these pups piss all over the tenuous silverlinings of his now dismal life, disdainful of the man he’d become, whispering remembrances of another man long dead. Identity can’t endure as memories do; again and again he buries them, but again and again they rise to haunt him. Perhaps his sub-conscious is trying to tell him something, but he stopped listening years ago. Yet the past has left its mark, and its myriad shades still possessed him and could drag him down from life’s mild contentments into their cold dark, time-frozen world at their leisure. Before Bogar realized it, the immersion had already begun, his body continued trudging to his lookout, boots clopping, weapons clinking, hair flicking in the cool breeze, but his mind silently sank down-down into despair, self-loathing and shameful longing for a life reduced to bitter ashes.

Bogar was born and raised in the Ba-Sing-Se slums, the only child of loving but inattentive parents who died when he was eight, murdered by the debt collectors of a local loanshark. His mother and father’s sacrifice ensured his escape, sparing his life. But what life had he left? Orphans either ran in gangs or were poached and sold into prostitution; male or female, any age, whatever appetites their grungy, grotesque clients sought, the crime-bosses supplied it cheap-cheap-cheap; sick business, sick bastards. Luckily he’d not fallen into that particular –vocation-, rather, knowing his uncle Li and aunt Fane wouldn’t take him in, he joined one of the more prominent gangs, having had made friends there his parents wouldn’t have approved of. The gangs were created by the young and the destitute who banded together to survive and protect themselves from enterprising crooks, pimps and slavers; yes, you heard, slavery is common in the slums too. Oh Ba-Sing-Se law is proclaimed fare and just by the middle and upper classes, but the desperately destitute aren’t even considered real people, sewer-rats drowning in shite more-like. 

So the gangs survived; but not freely, they still served bigger baddies, but it was more of a patronage than servitude. The warring criminal kingpins weren’t stupid, they knew harming an aligned orphan would unite all the gangs, rival or not, a quarter of their number benders, culminating in a bloodbath; that’s why they championed the gangs and shrewdly encouraged rivalries between them, classic divide and conquer tactics; besides, if an orphan worked hard, there were perks. Nevertheless, it was a lawless world no honest watchmen entered bar those unscrupulous guardsman coveting unlawful indulgences, bribes, or protection racketeering. Ultimately, slum law surrounded that unspoken peace treaty between the gangs, crime bosses, black alchemists, pawnbrokers and crooked watchmen. Gang life was gritty work, Bogar had sunk low, done much and killed many to survive, moreover, he excelled at it and as a powerful Earthbender he soon became headed the gang, harbored ambitions, knowing that with time and planning he could even usurp his criminal patron and elevate his gang to new prosperous heights. 

But luck, as ever, spoiled his plan for that’s when the pressgang looking for frontline fodder to throw at the Fire Nation’s unstoppable war-machine came calling, and Bogar’s ever-thoughtful patron, the one he aspired to usurp, happily volunteered him; Patriotic huh? Devious bastard probably suspected his scheming, or heard whispers; someone always tattles. Still, by that point Bogar was twenty and a heavy hitter in the slums, not that he missed it after he was shipped out with a handful of his more loyal pals who’d voluntarily followed him rather than weather the ensuing power vacuum of his ousting as they’d have been first on everyone’s throat cutting list. Yeah, even the criminally destitute have their political system, and neither Bogar nor his friends lamented their exile from its oppression.

In military training and later on the battlefield their twelve strong group remained stubbornly cohesive and became very disagreeable with any superior attempting to separate them; they’d grown up together, and would die together. Among their team, trust and loyalty ran thicker than blood, the rare gift of true friendship, akin to brotherhood, or, as four of their number were female, a family; a family that, as it turned out, also doubled as a finely tuned, well-oiled war-weapon. In fact, their experience with swift cutthroatery, unparalleled talent for coordinated unit tactics and startling survival and success ratios quickly got them noticed and shipped off for high priority training with the EK-SF, Earth Kingdom Special Forces. But even then they stuck together, the implacable unit, the elite, of the elite.

Age twenty five was when he met the woman he ended up marrying two years later with their first child conceived a year after that. Learning of his wife’s pregnancy saw Bogar resign from the EK-SF, his superior at the time, who, being a family man himself, understood what really mattered and pulled some strings. woefully this life-changing decision followed a disastrous sneak-n-sabotage mission that got most of Bogar’s best friends killed. Faulty Intel was to blame, the enemy presence far exceeded expectation, and worse, the Fire Nation heard they were coming and set an ambush his team was ill-prepared for. Grossly outnumbered, seven friends fell, only he and four wounded others escaped. But how was their operation compromised? Easy; one careless intelligence leak and the Fire Nation spies pounced. That one mission might’ve turned the war and some careless desk-snot spoiled everything jacking his jaw. Special Forces and intelligence people in most militaries have an abiding love-hate relationship; soldier’s lives depend on good intel, but too often the intel isn’t reliable and those paper-pushers just shrug off their incompetence because they aren’t the ones out there bleeding and dying; no, rather they shift the blame onto the soldiers themselves with the typically disdainful -they should do their jobs better like their paid to do- Attitude; bloody wankers. 

Anyway, it brought life’s true preciousness into focus for Bogar; wife, family, he’d matured enough to realize the outside world wasn’t all flowers and sunshine, it’d come as a shock to discover the villains out here made the slum kingpins look like the callow street thugs he once ran with, and those villains were supposedly the good guys. Thoroughly desensitized, Bogar’s inhumanity brooked no shivers over memories of the dark deeds they’d ordered his team to commit; war is war, life is cheap and he’d suffered private shameful shivers aplenty back then; not even street life had been that revolting, thus his assisted resignation and sojourn into family life, one last –vain- hope to salvage what tattered scraps of humanity remained to him. He’d beseeched his surviving friends to resign also, but dehumanized and war-hardened they’d found their calling with Special Forces, getting paid to do what they’d always done best; spy, sneak, kill. So they parted ways, but not before one last grand farewell piss-up, though recently married Bogar abstinently disappointed the tavern wenches that night. He still thought of them sometimes, his friends not the wenches, wondered what they were doing now the war was over; wondered if they still remember their grizzly old buddy. Bogar grimaced, knowing those crazy buggers too well; competent, but two times too fearless without him there constantly ass-kicking them into rational behavior “Likely all dead,” he thought somberly.

For 16 years thereafter he served as guard captain of his wife’s home town where his family lived happily, it’d taken only a month before the mayor handed him the job with a fourty man garrison he’d be charged with re-training, disciplining and commanding in their duty of keeping a crime-free town by patrolling and scouting its borders for external threats. Bogar, known by a different name back then, found it a good, honorable job, he was idolized by his men for his incredible Eartbending talents and army experience; still, his history in special forces he kept hush-hush, as ordered. All in all it was a good life; work hard, keep vigilant then go home to a warm bed and some –down time- with the wife who never tore his head off for absentee fathering, or lovemaking hehehe. Yes, he was proud of his career and more so of his family; two wonderful teenage daughters, brave, spirited reckless Tier; her shy, softly-spoken younger sister Arie, and his practical minded older son Ken-chi who also joined the guard to hang with his old man; all three were the pride and joy of he and his gorgeous, often cheeky wife Arah. 

All dead now….his family….raped and or murdered when a large Fire Nation contingent roughly 730 strong scourged his home, their assault, sudden, brutal and unforeseen. Outnumbered, blindsided, unprepeared, Bogar tried to hold the lines and protect the town, his men were all excellent Earthbenders and warriors compared to the Fire Nation’s baby-faced recruits, the insurgents bled hard for their cause, 5 enemy soldiers fell for every one of his warriors, but superior numbers and all that. Valiant though the resistance, the lines broke, the town fell and the last thing Bogar recalled was he and Ken-Chi fighting desperately back to back until his son shoved him clear of a giant multi-Firebender fueled fireball; a great rain of burning rubble and Ken-Chi’s agonized death-cries were the last things Bogar knew before he blacked out to later awake among the plundered wreckage as one of the few overlooked survivors. His eyes burned, damned slopes, gets so dusty up here…Who was he kidding? Survivors guilt still gnawed at him even now; yet his youth in the slums taught him to survive no matter the cost, so if suicide was for cowards, what else could he do but live? And even if that life was so lonesomely absent any possible recourse or redemption, he regretted none of the bloody retributions he’d sown to avenge his family’s cruel fate…none…at…all

Initially Bogar was baffled when blame officially fell on him for his towns grizzly end, so naturally he’d gone to regional intelligence headquarters for answers, like why they’d not sent warning of such significant enemy activity. They stonewalled him at first, but after threatening to make public the atrocities they’d ordered his EK-SF team to commit, his implacable perseverance eventually yielded answers; none good. Turns out the regional intelligence branch merely neglected to keep tabs on enemy movement. But did they take responsibility? Nuh-uh, that’d be too embarrassing; so instead they bandied some legal words and covertly bullied those few other lucky slaughter survivors into reluctantly testifying against their once respected guard captain who’d –allegedly- received and failed to act on a warning he’d never even received, even going so far as to unofficially hint that his survival of the –mishap- is suspiciously telling of a Fire Nation sympathizer….Bloody Wankers! 

Bogar however was too experienced with intelligence people to believe they’d overlooked an enemy battalion so large infiltrating their territory unopposed. No, they weren’t framing him to cover their ineptitude, but rather, to conceal a more nefarious purpose; they denied the accusation, of course. Still, whatever their reasons for sacrificing his town, family and reputation, whether strategical, political or otherwise, this coldblooded ingratitude was their way of saying –As thanks for years of loyal service, here’s a complimentary knife in the back and our sincere indifference your loss-…Wankers. Politics, it’s always politics, sniveling, self-image obsessed parchment-pushers hiding safe behind their desks, able to sacrifice thousands of innocents with one negligent quill-stroke, blissfully distant from war’s true horrors. Knowing such contemptible people were responsible for all his losses was what finally saw Bogar snap. Perhaps they expected he’d flee before their governmental might with tail between legs. What they didn’t expect however was his –mildly irrational- suicidal grief driven reaction to their betrayal; they weren’t acquainted with the kind of irreconcilable despair that he was; but they learned, and HARD!

Bogar was a damn powerful Earthbender back then, and cunning with it; many fell to his wrath that day, including the entire west wing of regional Intelligence headquarters. He slew every preening politico present who’d framed him along with two dozen of their elite bodyguards. The bodyguards he’d killed quickly, cleanly, they were just soldiers, like him, and deserved respect unlike their wards who did NOT die easily, or cleanly. After Earthbending up the floor to barricade the only escape, he got to work, one official after another, taking his time, especially with the regional head-honcho, Bogar disemboweled him, reKplacing his guts with bucket-loads of sharp pulverized stone he’d bent into powered shrapnel and forced into the bloodstream of the man’s arteries. Woefully interrupted, Bogar escaped through the collapsed roof Earthbender style just as headquarters security broke through his barricade only to find the conference-room walls floor and ceiling splashed with blood and everybody dead but the regional director who was screaming in hysterical agony, slowly dying from mutilations so grotesque not even the world’s greatest healers could’ve salvaged him. The memory still made Bogar smirk; vengeance attained reaps not cold emptiness, but exultant pride. 

It didn’t end there either; outlawed and relentlessly hunted; Bogar grew determined to learn the true terrible –why- of it all; the slaughter, the stich-up, everything; he needed closure desperately. Long story short, after several weeks of illegal activity, trespassing, sleuthing and ruthless interrogation of knowledgeable persons, He finally unearthed that buried truth, a truth so pathetically despicable that he’d actually laughed after learning the names of the surviving three villains who’d precipitated his woe. 

Two were merely advisors to those he’d already punished, inconsequential next to the third man whom he both knew and thoroughly despised. His name was General Tao, a brutish, unscrupulous, slovenly vile ale-swilling oaf repeatedly accused by the town mayor of corruption, protection racketeering and sexually assaulting townswomen. Bogar himself had feuded with Tao over said accusations many times, after all he was guard captain and the townspeople his responsibility, but long odds to the gambler who backs a captain over a general for that general was well connected and dodged every charge. What set alarm bells tolling in Bogar’s head however was the recollection of his last meeting with the mayor two days before the Fire Nation’s shock assault. Apparently the mayor had found means to expose Tao’s corruption, having already petitioned Ba-Sing-Se’s High Court via messenger he was scheduled to travel there and put fourth his evidence the following week. But of course, one day before his scheduled journey….Bogar surmised General Tao had somehow steered that enemy force toward his hometown with the intel-branch head’s bribed cooperation….So much pain and death to save one fat, disgusting man’s career….For all those murdered, Bogar individually stalked, kidnapped, tortured and killed all three bounders, and only Tao put up a fight, but Tao was out of shape and Bogar prevailed, easily incapacitating him. The good general got his undivided attention in the night’s aftermath; it was….most cathartic.

Unfortunately, Bogar’s victims were still vital to protecting the region from enemy incursion and his righteous retribution had plunged local intelligence into leaderless disarray, and those ever-innovative Fire Nation generals capitalize immediately, and Bogar was too numb with grief to care. Luckily, their replacements weren’t so corrupt, and unluckily, for Bogar anyway, three grudge baring factions, the authorities, military and intelligence community, immediately launched a tireless crusade to hunt him down and dispense justice, but typically their factional rivalry constantly impeded onenaother’s efforts and Bogar’s EK-SF training preserved him. Eventually however other cases of deserters and war criminals piled up, forcing them to reprioritize, entrusting the hunt to a measly skeleton crew Bogar easily outfoxed. Some months later the Avatar returned and with the hundred year war was reaching its climax, head office abandoned the chase and reassigned that defeated crew more important jobs. Nobody cared about some tired old traitor anymore, eventually he was forgotten; oh his sketch remained the military’s shit-list, thus why he grew a beard and gained some pounds, effectively burying that broken family man and birthing of Jin-Sing’s infamous bandit, in his stead. There was no going back, this was it for him, the highest low point of his life he could rationally hope for; he might not like the reality, but he accepted it.

How ironic that he’d come full circle, started out with a substandard life plunged further into bloody depravity and criminal enterprise, then to glimpse freedom in serving a new, seemingly worthwhile cause, he and his friends striving and clawing their way toward a better life; family, kids, a respectable job, free and happy, then one man’s greed and an enemy nation’s ambition tore it asunder, leaving him only revenge and loneliness; then once the crimson mists faded with vengeance acquired, he found himself back where he started, worse actually, he’d had friends back then. He couldn’t return to the slums, either he’d be apprehended entering the city or his old ilk would sell him out, besides there’d be a new conniving generation ruling the warrens who wouldn’t welcome some faded old gang legend’s homecoming; to them, he’d be upper-class filth, respectable peoples, and though he’d grown more contemptible than all of them combined, it made no difference, they were simply surviving, whereas he should’ve died with his family long ago.

He reached his lookout-spire thoroughly depressed. Sighing, he Earthbent himself up to the small sit-in niche three quarters up, sat then glowered over the treetops to the easterly view of Jin-Sing and its northern and southern roads respectively, moodily unmoved by the golden radiance of the grassy planes under the mid-morning sunlight; usually the view cheered him, but not today. Scowling at the unfairness of it all, Bogar’s eye scanned the sky, decent weather, hadn’t been raining lately so Earthbending the quick way down shouldn’t be a trifle. Satisfied, Bogar dug around in the pocket of his tatty, dirt-smattered vest for his spyglass, and finding the pocket empty he cursed, he’d left it back at the cave, again “Must be getting old, they say memory flees the aging, yet mine haunts me just fine, it’s the amnesia of senility I envy.” He scoffed in self-mockery “Maybe I’m getting too comfortable here, too complacent?” Something he’d ponder while returning to the cave, also deciding on an early lunch when he got there; perhaps he’d even toss the tribesman an apple or something, no need to be cruel, the lad couldn’t help being born stupid. Then Bogar wondered if the kid needed money to survive and took up bounty hunting out of desperation; possible, but he didn’t look too badly off despite his raggedy appearance. Regardless, Bogar would leave him there a few more hours then send him on his way with a valuable life lesson.

The prospect of food cheered him some, he still had those dried meat rations and eggs from the supply wagon he’d hijacked four days earlier, quality stuff, the guards were pretty tough too, poor bastards, they’d only been doing their jobs, it’s why he’d left their personal belongings behind for their families to claim. He’d also only taken from the carts what he needed to survive up here and left the bulk of the food stocks for the town, he’d even spared the non-combatants. Bogar wasn’t needlessly villainous like most bandits who destroyed everything they couldn’t steal; part of his highwayman philosophy, don’t get greedy, take only what you need and only what others can afford to lose, if they can afford it, take more, show your victims respect, even the dead ones; though he never extended those courtesies to his Fire Nation victims, that’d just be silly.

Ten minutes on, having reached the intersecting paths and started up the one leading to his hideout, Bogar suddenly paused, cocked his head, listening intently; thought he heard a voice, it sounded female, though he was too far away to tell if he’d imagined it. Perhaps it was just the young tribesman having another fit of hysterics, the lad’s voice certainly did take on a girlish pitch when agitated; silly twit should save his breath, nobody’s like to hear him up here and he seemed the type good fortune would thumb its nose at. But if someone else was there, would he kill them? Depends who and what manner of will they bore him, ill-will being the norm for most folks. Just once a friendly caller or a bounty ignorant hiker would be nice; he’d rob them of course, but no reason they couldn’t make Smalltalk at the same time.

Regardless, Bogar strode onward to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villain-wise Bogar’s nothing special, in fact he’s probably crazier than Azula, but I like humanizing the bad guys with extensive backgrounds; hope his history wasn’t too boring. Now Bogar’s a very powerful Earthbender, in his prime he’d of posed Toph or King Bumi a serious challenge (perhaps even defeated them 3 times out of 10) though here he’s old, unfit and past his prime. Azula is also out of shape after moths wasting away in the Asylum; so both being prodigies, Azula will find him difficult prey, especially since she doesn’t trust her present mental stability enough to conjure lightning.


	4. Chapter 4

(Krovine Slopes: Mid-Morning.)

-Sokka-

Pain gained prominence as adrenaline dissipated and Sokka’s backside felt thoroughly tenderized after sliding on it at Bogar’s pushy stone slab’s insistence; luckily his pants were made of resilient material, otherwise he’d be mooning all Jin-Sing with a skinless tooshie so patterned with drag marks anyone would swear he’d sat on a hot cooking-grill to deposit yesterday’s lunch; yet his rear pains paled when compared to his wounded warrior’s pride.

Maybe a few minutes passed, maybe half hour, Sokka wasn’t sure, he’d spent most of it sat resignedly on the ledge moping, and its universal fact that when one mopes, time grows hazy. Sokka didn’t care, outfoxed by both Azula and Bogar then stranded here inescapably, he’d finally accepted that his was the glass ego, not Azula’s. Was he really that insecure, recklessly striving to prove his metal to a narcissistic princess and enemy whose opinion meant nothing to him? Put simply, yes, he was, and more shocking still, he did care what she thought of him, though why and when her opinion started mattering Sokka couldn’t fathom. In suffering her continual company the past weeks he supposed he’d learned that in many respects they were pretty similar, yet so –SO- different in others. Alas, he was wasting time analyzing irrelevancies, and realistically, escaping this ledge would prove a vastly easier puzzle to noodle out anyway. 

Surviving the fall was great and all, but with a still nasty drop below, survival itself is a small, easily rescindable favor at best; still, it beat a ledgeless woodlands plunge, those dying trees looked real menacing from up here, all spiky and –RAH, I’ll rip your heart out cause I’m an evil tree that doesn’t have a heart but wants one- claw-like. He weighed daring the risky but not impossible climb back up, except his only solid insurance would be death’s ever-eager embrace waiting to cushion his landing “Good-ol death, the one reliable thing in life; and that’s just sad.” He thought dourly then tried for a positive spin “Well, at least the view’s good up here.” Was the best he could muster because his mighty brain could contrive no alternative solutions un-hobbled by intolerable probabilities of splatty fatalities. 

Sokka sat resignedly, slumped in another brooding exercise, his legs dangling off the ledge, glowering defiantly down that too deadly a plunge, and that’s when, quite in running with his lousy luck, Azula’s light, lilting voice, ever unwelcome, feathered down to him from the overhead ridge like a uninvited breeze befouled with amused condescension, mockery and a disquieting joviality that ill-suited her. 

“Well that was quite the performance peasant, I haven’t been so entertained in years;” She guffawed then twisted the knife “You must be feeling very silly right now.”

Too sore for repartee, Sokka merely groaned “Oh great, you again, come to gloat?”

“Not really, I’m surprised you’re still alive;” She chortled “What dumb luck you’d land on the only ledge up here.” 

Sokka scowled, if she’d been watching then she knew his survival was accidental, but he wouldn’t allow Azula the satisfaction of reveling in his shame “Yeah, I can tell your real disappointed with the results.” He deadpanned bitterly.

“Very; in fact I feel thoroughly cheated after nursing such high hopes of seeing your lifeless corpse comically pulverized on the rocks; but I guess….What is it you’re always saying? The world just loves proving me wrong?...Yes that’s it; very pithy peasant, very pithy.”

“I’ll show you pithy in a minute if you don’t quit bugging me; and let’s not forget this whole lousy disaster is all your fault anyway.” He snarled.

“Now-now, let’s not be petty,” Azula admonished, smirking “I think we both know who’s really to blame for your current predicament? And it’s not I, nor the bandit; go on, I’ll give you three guesses who.”

Sokka glowered, guessed “You?”

“No.” Azula chirped.

“You.” Sokka insisted.

“Cold; try again.” Azula hummed.

“Yeeee-ooou?!” He pointed, adopting a grave, accusing expression.

“And wrong thrice; terribly sorry peasant but the correct answer was –YOU-” Azula hollered and pointed down at him with the theatrical hand-gesture used by those annoying loud-mouth hosts you find heading those stupid onstage game-shows in carnivals and city-squares; Sokka really hated those guys, mainly because he’d gotten roped into just such a quiz tournament last week where he bombed in the first round, and assuredly not for any lack of intelligence on his own part, in fact Sokka was convinced the host purposely humiliated him by asking an unanswerable question. How was he supposed to know Broccoli’s a plant? Stupid vegetables, might as well have asked what the meaning of life is; alas, despite his insistence the game was rigged, the other’s didn’t buy it, and worse, Azula witnessed the whole debacle; this was her way of picking the scab, damn her.

Hands on hips, Sokka shook his head emphatically “That’s what I said; YOU.” He pointed grumpily; Azula just rolled her eyes, amused at his stubborn thick-headedness; though in principle she was correct, his competitive arrogance landed him here, but he sure wouldn’t admit it to her. Normally stressful situations where his brain’s time to shine, but his better half sure wasn’t shining too brightly at present “Yeah brain, what’s up with you today? Wake up on the wrong side of the head or something?”

“Don’t crack wise with me dummy, I’ve got a mallet in here and I’m not afraid to use it!”

“Ohhhhh, touchy today, aren’t we.” Sokka crowed.

“Little princess know-it-all up there’s just throwing me off my game a bit, that’s all.”

“Ahh-excuses-excuses.” 

“Which I’ll soon trade for painful excuses if you don’t shut up and let me think of an escape from this mess you gotten us in; damn bonehead.”

“Who are you calling bonehead? It’s your mansion, err, I mean, head...so start showing some pride in your residence or I’ll stuff you in a small smelly box for the rest of your days!”

“Residence?!” His better half howled “Residence! This, is my prison, and you, are my rarely cognizant idiot jailor who feeds me nothing even –REMOTELY- academic, intellectual or philosophical; pessimism, hubris and shoddy one-liners are –NOT- a healthy diet!!!!”

“Ah-bitch-bitch-bitch; just had to go and make things -REEEAAL- weird in here, didn’t ya!”

“Well whose fault is that, hmm?”

“That’s it, I’m not talking to you anymore!”

“Fine by me!”

“Ass!”

“Bonehead!”

While pondering if he’d bumped his bonehead during his fall, Sokka was snapped from his internal weirdness by his other least favorite choice of company “Where did you just drift off to?” Azula enquired, puzzled at his momentarily glazed expression.

“Crazy Town.” Was Sokka’s laconic response, Azula shrugged as if it made perfect sense; who knows, maybe to her it did “So; what now?” Sokka queried, playing nonchalant.

“Now? Hmm,” She hummed “Let’s just say I’m weighing the pros and cons of lending you a helping hand; alas, all I’m able to contrive, are cons.” This with her pouty mock-sad voice, damn but could she act.

Sokka guffawed “Pros? In accepting your mercy? Nope, only cons, bad-baaad cons;” Sokka sniffed “And chances are that your -helping hand- has a real loose grip, cause, you know, mercy’s a muscle and muscles need exercise to be strong, so I’m sure you’ll understand my reluctance if I’m a little, um, reluctant.”

“And I’m sure you’ll understand my indifference if I don’t give a far flung monkey turd about your idiot metaphors, or subsequently, your wretched –irritates the hell out of me- existence; unless…” She let it hang, eyes sparkling deviously.

Wary, Sokka took the bait “Unless what?...” He asked, his voice deceptively even.

“Unless; you apologize.” Azula lilted, tilting her head in that really annoying way girls do to look all cute and innocent, and from her of all people.

“A-a-a-apologize?” Sokka practically sneezed out “To You?...Seriously? 

“Seriously.” She smiled wickedly down at him.

“Gahh, you –diabolical- which!” Sokka sputtered, outraged “I mean really, would you apologize in my place?!”

“In your place? down there?” Azula asked, sniffed then shook her head, chortling “No, no peasant, I wouldn’t be that stupid.” 

“Yeah, thought so; now please get lost;” Her amusement irritated him “I’ve had it up to here with your nasty attitude.” 

“Up to there, really? Well considering I’m all the way up here and your way down there, you can’t have had it so much as not to sacrifice the pittance of a remorseful one word admission.”

“Oh-yeah I have, my pride’s been wounded enough for one day thanks, besides, apologies offered under duress aren’t ever sincere, everybody knows that;” He stated, stone-stubborn and condescending “And why would you help me anyway? You don’t even like me.”

“True, I don’t, but you were right in that I’d do myself no favors neglecting my –obligation- to your survival, as per the conditions by which my dear, loving brother permits my freedom; so all you need do is apologize for the awful things you said earlier, and then, well, we’ll see won’t we?”.

“No way I’m apologizing to you; if anything you should apologize to me!” He shrieked, irked “All you’ve done is insult me since we started this venture, and called me names. What’s so hard about using my real name?”

“Oh Bo-ho, your poor little ego. Are two little words really so daunting? Come now, I’ll even start you off….I’m…” Elegantly Azula rolled her hand, prompting, but Sokka kept stubbornly silent “That’s your cue to say the magic S word; again…I’m…”

“You’re, Sorry?” Sokka grinned mockingly “I know you are but what am I?” 

“Suddenly very abandoned is what;” Azula sighed “I see you insist on being childish about this; well, have it your way then; soon it won’t matter anyway, but no doubt you’ll figure that out on your own in good time when you spy me carting off the bounty we might have shared if not for your stubborn resistance to reason.”

“Your actually going to leave me stranded here aren’t you,” Sokka shook his head, hardly surprised “Figures, ever the shining example of human values are you royal types.”

“Like I said, you’ve only yourself to blame; and while your plight isn’t ineluctable, I doubt your resourceful enough to escape that ledge without contracting dead Savage syndrome; best start spinning yourself a silverlining, dying fools need their false comforts. Say, how’s he view down there?”

“Why not take a swan dive and find out for yourself.” He snapped, forgetting he’d already used that line on Bogar, and given Azula’s disapproving frown, she must’ve been eavesdropping when he had. 

“Hmph, glib, and repetitive,” She snorted “Way to multi-task peasant. Are self-delusion and convoluted daydreaming your only talents? Or is masochism another of your twisted fetishes.”

“I’ve got other assets too, come on down and see.” Sokka was referring to the knife he threw at Bogar and wished he still had to throw at her; yet Azula mistook his retort for perverse vulgarity and scoffed.

“Oh please peasant, you couldn’t handle me, and I doubt I’d be able to handle whatever archaic diseases I’d catch from contact with your non-existent manhood, so let’s not go there, okay?”

Sokka was tempted to make it personal and say something he’d likely not survive, but for once he did the sensible thing and acknowledged his current disadvantage in the status quo and that antagonizing a certifiably crazy girl capable of erasing the life preserver beneath his feet in one elegant fiery hand gesture would make him even crazier than his wouldbe executioner. Indeed Sokka suddenly felt smarter for exercising this verbal forbearance; of course he still made a stupid reply, but nothing that’d get him killed “Azula, I swear when I get up there….”

“Promises, promises peasant, though I think –if- you get up would be more accurate; by now I’m sure our mutual acquaintance has caught echoes of your whiny, girlish voice on the wind and will be returning soon;” 

“My voice is not girlish? Why do people keeps saying that?!” Sokka complained in a cracking girlish voice “I happen to think I sound very manly.”

Azula just shook her head and exhaled “Last chance to apologize…” She offered airily, unanswered “No?” Ah-well, I tried, have a nice death, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.” Azula punctuating his name with an avalanche of scorn, gave a little finger-wave farewell, then disappeared.

“Bitch,” He muttered, deciding he’d find his own way off this ledge, without help from the likes, her; it’s bad enough she’d beaten him up here, damn flying Firebenders, but she’d also watched Bogar kick his butt, likely from the concealed birds-eye vantage of the highest rampart. Once his temper cooled off though, the truth of his situation finally dawned. How -would- he get to safety? There were possible handholds up the cliff-face, but they didn’t look reassuring. Crap, why’d he have to be so stubborn? Would’ve it killed him to apologize? It needn’t even be sincere, though it probably ought to be, he had said some pretty rotten things, but so had she, and knowing her, apology or not, she’d have left him here anyway out of spite. “Oh the joys of companionship; maybe those cave hermits have the right idea, no people, no problems.”

Sokka bet Azula was still nearby, it’s certainly her style waiting for him to call begging her aid; yep, that’d just make her day wouldn’t it. Stubbornly, futilely, Sokka stayed quiet, but when a short while later his ears detected soft scuffing footsteps above, his dignity collapsed like a lean-to in the gale that was his drive to survive. 

“OK, FINE, I’M SORRY, ALRIGHT!?” The footsteps halted “You’re right, I’m wrong. You hear? Well?” He shouted, voice bouncing of the cliff to no response “Hey; if your gonna make me embarrass myself begging, the least you can do is answer….AZULA!”

The footsteps neared, only it wasn’t Azula but Bogar who peered amusedly down at him “Aye-enough of that unladylike whaling lad, weren’t you listening when I said your almost a man grown, so act like, oh-oops, sorry Lassy, forgot you’re a woman, that squeaking girly voice is a dead giveaway.” Sokka growled and ground his teeth, face reddening “And what the fawk’s an Azula?”

“A cute and cuddly fluffy bunny-bear with sharp claws and a bad attitude!” Ok, he might’ve stretched the truth there just a lot; cute and cuddly Azula most definitely is not; fluffy; well he certainly had no desire to see her in the nude, leave that mystery to the poor, suicidal, likely non-existent sod she ends up marrying; the claws and attitude though, were gross understatements; still, badly as Sokka wanted to sell Azula out and alert Bogar, who honestly seemed a nicer person than her, he wouldn’t, yes, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe is many things, but a tattletale, never.

“The stress and consequences of your bad choices getting to you already? Bad sign, talking to yourself and shouting at imaginary people, tsk-tsk; guess Lady Luck really does hate you. What, you have an affair with her sister or something?”

Sokka groaned tiredly “Aww-sheesh, everybody’s a comedian today; and I’m their living punchline.”

“Well, sucks to be you; catch ya later Lassy, I’m off to lunch.” Bogar vanished from view

“Hay wait a sec, before you go I’ve got a question.” Sokka called, remembering an important curio which, considering his current circumstances, really shouldn’t be important, but the food fanatic in him was baying to know.

“Yeah?” Bogar’s head reappeared “Shoot.”

“Um, are Canyon-Crawlers, uh, you know, edible?”

“Oh you better believe they are, fine cut Crawler, cooked medium-rare till the sizzling fat tenders the meat, most would run screaming at the idea but add some sault, hot spices, garlic seasoning and a pinch of vinegar served with a side of nuts and cave mushrooms and you’ve got yourself a dish delectable enough to shame the divine spirits of gluttonous delights themselves.”

It seemed farfetched but being the kind of culinary connoisseur who devolves to a drooling, foamy-mouthed invalid at the merest whiff of the magic that is meat over open flames, Sokka’s curiosity was remorseless and brutally tyrannical, he simply had to know “Really? That delicious?” He asked, mouth already watering “You’re not just pulling my leg right?”

“Nay lad, not at all, hundred percent serious, don’t knock it till you try it, in fact tell ya what, I’ll hunt one down for dinner, cook it and prove it to ya; I might even let ya have some too hehehe; uh, provided of course you come up with that insult; better make it hurtful, or else” Bogar grinned then disappeared again and Sokka almost hoped Azula would fail to capture the bandit, if only to slake his insatiable gastronomic intrigue.

Nevertheless, nice as taste-testing well-roasted Canyon Crawler sounded, he moved it onto his mental –do it later- list along with moping and cursing out Azula then got his mighty brain in gear and cerebrated non-fatal and preferably non-painful ways off this ledge. Bleak and few were the options he deduced, yet he formulated one feasible idea, perilous, but feasible.

Sokka riffled through his pack, finding little of great help; the coil of rope wouldn’t serve with nothing up there to lasso, and it’s too short to climb down on even with a reliable mooring, but basic camping stores don’t usually sell rock-climbing gear and this was all he could afford anyway. The most useful items were, ironically, the mettle pegs for pitching his tent; he guffawed, recalling in embarrassment how his cheap, crappy tent kept collapsing yesterday. Sokka was usually a good tent-pitcher, so how had Azula fixed it when he couldn’t? Chagrined, Sokka frowned sternly at the tent-pegs “Hope you two hold me up better than you did my tent, because if you don’t, I’m taking ya-both down with me.” Sokka clanged them together, administering a taste of impact; the steel pegs, thoroughly unintimidated, were thin but sturdy, sharp and pointy, the cracked rock-face would accommodate, though he slipped extra pegs in his pockets and Boomerang’s untenanted sheathe as backups in case he dropped one. 

The rock-face was hardly smooth or seamless, parts were but he judged half the climb doable barehanded, the pegs were for holds too thin for fingers and this ledge also made a decent safety net conditional on his climb not sidetracking beyond its width. Unlike earlier climbing those stairs that weren’t stairs, Sokka left his pack behind, scaling a vertical rock-face with its pulling weight would be a risk undiminished by the relatively short three-four meter climb. Sokka had no intention of abandoning his gear though and so tied one end of the coiled rope to his backpack and the other to his belt, it’s length exceeded the ascending height by over a meter, thus once up there he could pull the pack up after him; he also ensured the pack was closed so nothing fell out.

Deciding he’d wasted enough time brooding, time that’d benefit his rival bounty huntress, a grim faced Sokka got to it. Jaw set in stern concentration, fierce deep blue eyes ablaze with determination, his steady, purposeful vigor was a statement of defiance to the obstacle before him and the yet greater obstacles beyond it “Lookout Jerkbender’s, cause Sokka’s back in the game.”

……………………………

(Krovine Slopes : Mid-morning.)

-Bogar-

Sound up here travels easily, even a slipping pebble creates resonances; Bogar thought he’d heard a female voice, but dismissed it as the lad’s unmanly squalling; the tribesman struck him as the lone wolf anyway, if he’d had a partner, they’d have sprung an ambush mid-confrontation. Quite the goofball that lad, one second he’s raving at invisible people and the next he’s making threats that somehow segway into earnest enquiries about wild cuisine, Bogar hadn’t chuckled so heartily in years. He hadn’t lied about cooked Crawler being delicious either; maybe he’d go hunting later, whip up some spicy crawler stew to slake the lad’s curiosity before sending him on his way with some friendly advice to pick a more sensible career; he’d also toss the boy’s weapons down into the woods for him to retrieve on his walk back to Jin-Sing, thereby reducing the risk of round two since Bogar –really- didn’t want to kill him. The lad obviously has a good heart, he even reminded Bogar a little of his eldest daughter, Tier, girly voice included while just as spirited, headstrong and fearless yet quick enough of mind and whit to balance the precarious scales of exuberant youth.

Old familiar grief swelled in his chest; burning, painstaking loss, childhood friends, wife, kids, the few broken boons in his now wretched existence; so much loved and lost; yet despite the pain, he refused to let their memory die while he lived to honor it; if he fell, they’d forever go forgotten. Bogar paused, head bowed, eyes closed, breathing deeply, then with years of practiced emotional repression, Bogar strode on, his fleeting good cheer quashed beneath melancholia revived anew deep within the cold empty place where once glowed warmly everything dear to him torn asunder, his bitter, mournful reminiscence swelled into the vulgar, soul-flaying visage of pride, honor, life, love and his fall from each, symbolizing the purest, cruelest self-mockery tormenting him even here, today, masquerading as this personified falsity all Jin-Sing dubbed Bogar the Bandit. Yes, Bogar, a villain’s title, he’d not chosen it yet he clutches at it like the lone life-raft keeping him afloat in this churning black sea of despair whose waves strive relentlessly to drag him under….anything to survive, to keep their memories alive.

An outlaw’s life isn’t glorious, rebellious or liberating; there is a nihilistic freedom, of sorts, but its cold comfort here where loneliness presides, desperation and necessity ruling reason while the divide between man and beast grows steadily fainter with the passing of years, beasts society’s walls defy; yet would any hiding behind those walls fare any better? Irrelevant; Bogar wouldn’t wish his lot on anyone. Still, life up here has it’s silverlinings; good view, air ever-fresh, the breeze cool and pine scented, a grand mountain empire all his own with no polluting societal, judgmental, political or social pressures, no needs or expectations bar his own; and best of all, nobody left he could let down. An exile’s only responsibility is to himself; it is, his freedom, his cold…cold…freedom, this hollow, shallow life, the past his omnipresent familiar, its mocking whispers warping perception, tainting spirit and belief red obsessed with bloody vendetta, that ironic hue both favored by those he loathes and that which spills from their lacerated flesh in the bitter bliss of vendettas excised, ceding death-cries tiding over the insatiable for a short time more; until again rises red vendetta. 

The Jin-Sing Militia haven’t deciphered his culturally specific treatment of victims, it isn’t their fault, villagers playing peacekeeper without appropriate training gravely limits them and he’d taken no relish dispatching the militiamen who’d pursued him here. On bleaker days Bogar contemplated answering for his crimes, not those of the man he’d been, those he’d never regret, but Bogar’s crimes, though surrender would assuredly spell his death, public execution in Jin-Sing square. Alas he’d never do it, he knew; through will and effort, survivors survive until circumstance beggars those virtues “Pity the lad mistimed his attack; for death, I’d likely have thanked him.” Bogar didn’t prize his bloodstained reputation in Jin-Sing, certainly he’d murdered, yet he took pains to avoid senseless slaughter in his banditry. Those he robbed however spurned that token respect and often retaliated violently rather than surrender their valuables. Bogar understood people defending their livelihoods; but self-sacrificially? Death was needless yet they resisted, Bogar hated it, and corpse disposal alone is a dismally distressing necessity, though he always gave his casualties a decent burial with basic funeral rights when he could, because twisted as having your life lamented by its ender may be, he still felt obligated….but not in every case; the vermin befouling his –Garbage Pit- whom he’d drag off alive to die the long, noisy way. 

All Fire Nationers are sport to him, soldier or civilian, the difference is moot; all evil, all murdering, raping, ravaging sadists signified by eyes of burning amber…never trust…never trust eyes colored fire. They’d taken all from him, so he took all from them; their wealth, their livelihood, their loves, their screams, their plaintive supplications, and –eventually- their lives as well. Yet It was never enough; starved, insatiable, his appetite to hear their pleas for clemency, pleas echoing those of his kith, kin and love, unsatisfied. Hatred was all he had left, the last good thing besides the decaying fossils of happier memories 

“War breeds monsters twice born; first birth whelps the impeccant child, twice births the salivating beast; I was born twice, the child is dead, his name forgotten, yet the beast, renamed Bogar, lives on, and I’m all too eager to share in the festivities, of that second birthday, with those, who sired me; with every celebration I age one year; even in my present seniority, what parent wouldn’t be proud of this monster they created? I hear that pride in their every tortured scream, each a lament to the man they broke, their anguish a tribute to their success, their suffering a perfect credence to what a good little beastling they’ve raised, into monsterdom; faithfully following their example, as any devoted child would, their begetter!” He raved aloud, tone a slimy serpent slithering over burning flint.

And so again closes the morbid circle of his psychopathy and Bogar succumbed, immersing himself in reminiscence of vengeance requited, the braying of Fire Nation butchers as he broke bone, flayed flesh and sometimes even burned them, their fear of fire’s touch a priceless irony. He swaggered in a hazy, euphoric cloud the remaining way to his den’s vine camouflaged entrance where lunch would be eaten, a spyglass retrieved and hopefully used to peg another Fire Nation plaything to dismantle, and, of course, intimately acquaint with The Black Alchemist Stone.

Technically bending the entrance closed would be ideal concealment, superior to vines, but Bogar refused to leave the cave’s structural integrity potentially compromised while he slept, Earthbenders excel at manipulating stone, sleeping Earthbenders, not so much; plus being a light sleeper, the circulation of fresh air was worth chancing attackers. Between his bending talent and EK-SF training, Bogar was better off than most independent bandits, thus his hideout defied expectations; it’s interior is circular and sparse, Earthbent to his needs and wasn’t the cold, damp, dark hole it appeared from outside. Furnishings Bogar built himself with woodland materials lined the den’s back walls in a crescent layout of hide or fur partitions segregating different sized cubical-like, purpose oriented sections for loot caching, supplies, workspace, kitchen with ventilated hearth and sleeping space cozied up with pilfered rugs and tapestries.

A big round table where he planned and ate, currently uncluttered by the usual maps and parchments centered the cave hosting one cushion-boasting chair, one because, obviously, no social life, and cushion -boasting because he’d robbed a traveling Ba-Sing-Se noblewoman’s carriage months back. Having already snatched her jewelry he’d made a hasty grab for her coin-purse as she slapped at him, shrieking hysterically; Bogar could only laugh when he made his getaway clutching not her wealth but her ass-warmer. He still liked to imagine her cushionless homeward journey, arms crossed, huffing in her pouty, lisping voice “Argh, that dastardly villain, forcing my most esteemed, finely-shaped fanny to perpetually brave this cold, hard, ah-ooww-and bumping bench; oh what-a-world!.....Aww that’s right, I killed all her stupid-stubborn bodyguards didn’t I. Oops….nice lady though, hope she got home okay”

Bogar froze when he saw the backpack sitting on the table’s edge “Odd;” He thought, why had he left that there, in fact he never stole backpacks, only their contents. He racked his memory for where he might’ve acquitted the pack and cursed his old, feeling mind “First poverty, now senility.” He grumbled, walking for closer examination, figuring it recent plunder he’d left out for later inspection and content archiving. Just as he was reaching for it, a warning bell dinged behind his eyes. The pack looked brand new, everything he stole was generally travel worn. Ding-ding-ding, that bell again; that lad’s pack, while lower quality, had also appeared new...Wait, what’d the boy babbled upon their encounter? Some nonsense about The Great Fire Nation huntress; a competitor perhaps? He hoped so, he loved meeting Fire Nationers. Wait, something else; what was that word the lad was yelling....Bogar’s eyes widened; that wasn’t a word, but a name…..and Azula is...

Terrible wrongness triggered his old, dolled instincts; in a blur of action, Bogar lurched up and leaped backward, Earthbending a lethal spike spearing upwards from the floor where he’d stood milliseconds before right as the concealed shadow descended from above; again his reflexes had saved him and taken his attacker unprepared too. Bogar heard a surprised gasp, but the falling figure, lithe, young and undoubtedly female twisted like a contortionist in midair, summersaulted and kicked both feet down, a deluge of Azure fire fell, destroying both his spike and the table in a storm of smoldering debris, already gesturing a two-fingered hand thrust before she landed nimbly beside the wreckage, directing a very precise, very deadly tongue of blue death streaking straight for his heart. 

Only one Firebender wielded such flames; The Fire Princess herself had come to visit. Most would’ve run, or begged, but Bogar’s smile was wantonly twisted, eyes dilating like a drug addict who’s supplier offered him all the vice he wanted, whenever he wanted, free of charge, no strings attached. If he captured this one, oh the possibilities, after all the grief her ilk have caused the world, caused him; yes, true revenge, at last; his catharsis, his absolution. Still, Bogar was calm, serious, he’d not take her lightly, her prowess was rumored legendary, a true prodigy, but then many had once also considered him, a prodigy; sadly he was past his prime now, grown doll, fat, and old, yet she’d spent a year bundled up in an asylum if he’d heard correct, that’d atrophy anyone’s ability. Oh her form was excellent he’d admit, just, not excellent enough; and, unlike her, he had nothing left to lose. 

Casually, almost lazily, Bogar spun dancer-like, the ground spiraled up around him like a cone of armor, its drill-like motion nullifying her attack whereupon Bogar reversed his spin, causing his armor to uncoil and flick out at her in a snaking streamer, its head artistically, he thought, resembling a fanged, striking serpent. This was one of Bogar’s talents, making earth more pliable, not flexible as rope or elastic, more like the joints in the human body, or door-hinges; it opens myriad possibilities solid stone denies. Clearly she’d never faced such a technique, the Fire Whore bobbed, weaved, and took aerial evasion as the stone serpent wriggled and whipped about, trying to tangle and bind her, Bogar had given it thorny scales that occasionally nicked her and whatever stone serpent body-parts she flamed to rubble were quickly replaced. Yet she was nimble and the whipping sections she dodged broke upon the opposite wall, or nearby furnishings as stone joints don’t have great turning speed, thus he simply couldn’t tangle her and his summoned supply was quickly depleting; 

Knowing the Princess saw it too, Bogar braced watchfully for her crafty counterattack, she obliged, pirouetting in the same fashion he had, counterclockwise, arms gesturing, conjuring an azure whirlwind that swept away his stone serpent, then she refocused and redirected it all at him in the a very similar serpentine stream. Goading mockery perhaps? Bogar was unfazed, his temper icy, patient and vindictive “There’s time aplenty to savor her –delicious- screams” Bogar bent his remaining cone-armor into thick gauntlets then thrust his stone-covered hands forward, the flames broke on them like a wave-break, his implacable will holding the stone together. The vile girl’s bending was strong; but so, was his. Bogar used her dispersing flames to conceal when his clawed stone gauntlets propelled off his fists, targeting her throat as he side-rolled to avoid her fiery talon counterattack only for her to evasively roll clear of his own counterattack -exactly- as he’d planned. 

The Royal Bitch had barely renewed her stance when Bogar, still crouching, punched the floor and a barrage of thin pointy stone javelins shot diagonally from the ground before him straight at her. Masterfully the girl slapped aside the vicious projectiles with blurring, burning hands, only realizing in the nick of time the javelins were yet another ruse to distract her from the rock-spear slithering sneakily from the floor at her flank. She leaped, not clear but atop the spike, twin firewhips materializing in her hands which she cracked at him. Bogar snorted, lazily raising his hands and a shielding stonewall both as he stood erect. The whips flayed his barrier but his power held it steadfast. He waited, sensing her tactical shift of refocusing the whips into an intensely hot sphere, then just as she cut loose, Bogar immediately bent a jacket of spikes into his barriers face, divided it down the middle and propelled both halves arching forward to her left and right like pincers while rolling beneath that nasty sphere that he sensed boring deep into the cave-wall behind him even as he Earthbent five tall, long skewering stone fingers up infront of now unguarded girl, imperiling her only direction to evade the pincers with the cave-wall at her back.

Still overextended from her attack with but half a heartbeat to act, The Royal Whore’s impeccable instincts and reflexes salvaged her yet again. Without hesitation she summersaulted, simultaneously escaping the pincer trap and cleverly countering his five-finger skewer with twin heat jets directed downward from her legs, sweeping her landing area clean only to land exactly, where he wanted her. Bogar stomping, dislodging three big pointy stalactites in the cave roof, stalactites he’d preparedly Earthbent there himself months ago for surprise use in a situation just like this. The girl was good, bloody good, but even she couldn’t predict everything; the spikes descended, yet that same instinct alerted her, she heard the stalactites break free and dove clear by the skin of her teeth while retaining enough sense to palm forth two powerful fireballs to keep him at bay and by herself recovery time. Bogar’s trigger stomp however was a multitask motion that also replaced his stone gauntlets; smirking, he clapped his hands, catching and snuffing both fireballs with a comical -puff- sound that smoked up the cave even worse.

Bogar resumed his potently aggressive stance, but instead of attacking, he waited, watched, listened, hungry dilated eyes patiently –assessing- every inch of his welcome enemy. Like the ultimate predator she crouched where his kitchen had once been in a near impeccable bending stance, patiently waiting and observing just as he was. Her form, though a tad forced and jerky at times was still incredible, and judging by her raised eyebrow and eager smirk, she didn’t think his was too shabby either, confirmed when she spoke “So the hairy savage has skill and intuition,” The sharp cold voice of the girl in green and black mocked, he’d have to watch for those sheathed knives she had too “A phenomenon indeed? Good to know I haven’t wasted my time after all; you’ll make for a challenging practice dummy.” 

Bogar couldn’t agree more, at last a challenge worthy of his prodigal, if rusty, talents. He would enjoy this fight and enjoy even more her prolonged torment to come once he subdues her. Arrogance didn’t rule him though, she’d get his A game, nothing less would suffice. That same sadistic, bloodthirsty spark Bogar remembered so vividly in the eyes of those who’d ambushed and slaughtered half his team, and again in those who’d raped his wife and daughters and butchered everything he ever loved now blazed tenfold in her putrid golden gaze; he’d just become the soul object of her attention, and she his, each exhilarated by the prospect of respectively roasting or mutilating the other. Her taunts couldn’t bait him, in anger Bogar never loses his cool, but finds it, just like during his purging of regional intelligence. The jovial, forbearing old man who fought the tribesman had vanished and The Beast, the true Bogar, lurched full awake for the first time in years and came roaring exultantly up from the darkness to greet the dawn of another, VERY, special, birthday..

“Fire Nation cunt;” It growled slowly, hungrily, teeth bared in a truly evil death’s head grin that mirrored it’s prey’s, the manic demented intensity of its stagnant grief-writhen madness surfacing fully, bloodshot gray eyes bulging in ecstasy as it practically sung the breathy razor-like words “I’m a year older today; so wish your son a happy birthday, and reap, WHAT YOU HAVE ROUGHT!!!”

“BRING IT ON, PSYCHO!” The fire whore crowed right back, sounding every bit as unhinged as the beast she battled when they lunged at eachother, flinging the full might of their prodigious, prodigy level bending powers into full-on, merciless, head to head brutality. Inexplicably, Azula understood the bandit’s crazed meaning about birthdays because it was mirrored in herself, her wants, feelings and actions. She’d thoroughly analyzed this dirty savage’s psychology, ability and resolve and was now certain -he- was the challenge she’d been hoping for since her release; and astonishingly, she was his as well. “Everybody’s happy!” She mentally reveled in nauseous glee as they unleashed everything they had on eachother in a literal screaming, cackling fury, each reveling in this opportunity to at long last open the floodgates on all those years of wrath, hatred and pent up emotional agony.

The opening round had merely been a warm up for both combatants; now the very slopes themselves seemed to tremble as the two psychotic, seditious benders clashed in an explosive storm of fire and rocky shrapnel, both literally foaming at the mouth as they contrived, tried and countered the myriad new and interesting ways to deface the very symbol of what they hated, a symbol manifested in the other’s very heart and soul, their insane, raucous laughter resounding like the maddened, eternally tormented ghosts of murder victims centuries unrevenged and justice deprived to echo out of the cave on soundwaves of hissing fire and rumbling rock to be carried away on the wind of a rainstorm that’d crept from seemingly nowhere to blanket the moment in its oppressive gloom and sodden misery.  
………

(Krovine Slopes : Late-Morning) 

-Sokka-

Unfortunately the sole recipient of that soon to come sodden misery, was the tribesman clinging vulture-like to the cliff-side cursing the spirits because, much to his chagrin, the climb had taken him marginally askance of the ledge’s safety seeking reliable handholds, but thankfully not so askance that he couldn’t make a falling lunge to catch its edge, maybe. Sokka trusted his hands more than the tent-pegs which, despite their small pinion-like teeth, ill-suited this arduous work. Overall though, the task wasn’t so dire as he’d feared, dangerous, but doable; indeed, two tense, sweaty minutes on, he was over halfway up and proud of it. Alas, he should’ve learned by now exactly how the world feels about a proud, successful Sokka; but Sokka had learned, thus his total lack of surprise when the heavy gray rainclouds that’d crept out of nowhere chose that moment to get a load off. As if his plight wasn’t precarious enough without rain-slick rock and a soggy grip “Aww, what’d I ever do to the Nature Spirits to deserve this relentless heckling; if youse don’t quit it with all this Sokka bashing, I’llll….” One handhold firmly gripped, Sokka shook a fist at the sky, instantly answered by am angry thunderclap “Eeeek, just kidding.” He squeaked, hugging the cliff “Spirits+fistshaking=bad idea!”

This wasn’t fair, all he wanted was to escape his friends shadows and make a name for himself as a competent yet honorable Bounty Hunter. Benders get all the glory while he, the brains behind the Boomer-Aang squad, is publically denoted as some worthless tag-along, poop shoveling halfwit stable-boy all hindrance and no help; typical public, feckless, ungrateful sods, the war would’ve been lost and the Earth Kingdom roasted without him, yet even the legendary Air Ship Slice was officially attributed to Toph despite her denials. Right then Sokka resented them all; Azula, Bogar, his friends, the world, everything, especially nature as fear muddied self-doubt flooded his mind. How’d he gotten here? Some Bounty Hunter he made, getting whooped by a simple brigand. Katara was right, he was a screw up, a boomerang boasting boneheaded buffoon, and now he was pointing the finger of blame everywhere but himself; he’d landed himself here, not Azula, not Bogar, but him, Sokka the Southern Mopey-Dope, with his dumb decisions, rusty skills, candid levity, incompetence and worse; his inattentive trust of Azula from day one.

Oh yes, so subtle, so sneaky her little scheme, staging their earlier bandit battling argument to attack his warrior pride, knowing he’d recklessly charge up here unprepared and die a victim of his own stupidity confronting the notorious Bogar who, once Azula later captures, will confess to his murder with the Innocent princess lamenting her poor prideful partner who, spurning her Firebending support, went glory chasing alone; oh Azula rushed to catch up, but arrived, too late, and BAM, Team Avatar’s best and brainiest nullified. Sneaky bitch played him good, even Katara might’ve bought such a feasible fiction eventually, especially with Bogar’s legitimate confession. Interestingly this revelation calmed Sokka, focused him, recognizing his instant of doubt might’ve cost him everything, thus he’d kept scaling upward while mulling Azula’s deceit. She’d pay dearly for this, Spiritbending dearly.

“A pox on those sneaky rainclouds, as if capturing Bogar weaponless isn’t problem enough, dragging an immobilized prisoner off these slopes and through muddied woodlands will be murder.” The rain, while not heavy, soaked his head and shoulders and streamed down his face, but with the cliff getting damper and safety a scant meter above, Sokka wasn’t pausing for anything, not even after becoming sure he felt subtle vibrations through the cliff, nothing that’d dislodge him yet enough to set his teeth grinding, mostly from anger, believing them the reverberations of battle. Azula and Bogar had crossed paths it seemed, and Sokka honestly wasn’t sure which ass-face to root for; the one who put him here or the one who abandoned him here. Maybe they’d kill eachother and he could claim Bogar’s bounty himself. Nevertheless, Sokka persevered, stubbornly, painstakingly pulling himself up with every stable, rain-slick peg or handhold, breath heavy, muscles protesting, teeth grinding, adversity as ever drawing out the best and worst in him wherein the midst of stress he found that inner-equanimity which’d inspired all his finest plans and improvisations. 

Except creativity wasn’t his crisis mind’s only boon, mental clarity also shared the seat upon that chaotic Throne Of Psyche. This clarity had a sense of irony it seemed, recalling the day a sleep deprived Aang dreamt Fire Nation soldiers pursued Sokka and he died cause he couldn’t climb cliffs and so ordered him to practice cliff-climbing barehanded. Sokka felt offended back then, but as he heaved himself panting back onto the safe, solid rampart and, still belly prone, hoisted his backpack up after him, Sokka swore to thank Aang’s crazy dreaming brain profusely.

In no time a grim faced Sokka reached Bogar’s presumed hideout, careful to stand beyond view of its entrance. He immediately unslung his backpack, gently leaned it against the cliff, Bogar was right, it’d slowed him earlier and he’d need to be quick, nimble and sneaky here if by some miracle the bandit defeated Azula. Blah, of course she’d won, she’s Azula after all. Yet caution always pays, a lesson neglected when he’d heroically charged up here. Sokka peeked around the corner, past the draping vines, his eyes adjusted, spying an opposite wall curving a corner around which faint firelight and fainter muffled voices seeped. No clanger or further vibrations of the bending battle though; apparently concluded, but in whose favor? A faint sound; like screaming, or laughter? glee, or pain? Male, or Female? Drifted out the tall opening; but deep in the cave, muffled by distance, distorted by echoes and rainfall, Sokka couldn’t distinguish; 

Since seeing beats hearing at this juncture, Sokka slid past the vines on silent feet, every step, every motion cautious and patient, the rain outside would provide some sound cover, but he didn’t want to announce himself until assessing the situation. The cloying stench of smoke and burning wood predominated, almost choking him at first. Crouching lower for cleaner breathing and to present less of a human silhouette, Sokka crept stealthily toward the corner roughly six meters ahead, expecting that when he peeked around he’d find the obvious outcome, Bogar trussed up and a triumphant Azula, who’d pointedly mentioned –stress relief- probably torturing him. Well if so, Sokka, loathing torture’s practice no matter the justification, would intervene; although if it’s just a good old fashion kicking Bogar’s getting, Sokka wouldn’t object, mayhap he’d even make a contribution to recompense the ledge stranding. 

Ice water dribbled down Sokka’s spine when a chilling squeal dissected the silence, shrill, sharp, anguish-fueled but with a stifled, despairing quality, hoarse, yet uncannily feministic. Bogar had criticized Sokka’s voice for sounding girly, except Sokka knew a womanly pitch behooves most guys in excessive pain. So, Azula was torturing the oaf; sadly Sokka wasn’t surprised, just sickened and angry. When Azula mentioned stress relief, he’d pictured a criminal beat-down, but torture? Whatever Bogar’s crimes, torture, just, no. 

Maintaining stealth, Sokka crept onward, the chuckling mutters of that other voice growing more distinct, its echoes more malignant, its baritone like a fist squeezing his heart, its seditious edge now irrefutably masculine and accented; that wasn’t right, Azula had no accent. Another soul-shredding scream, worse with the increasingly prominent echoes of proximity, and this time the sex, and even the owner of that tormented voice, despite its muffled, ragged timbre, was disambiguated then all too vividly confirmed when Sokka reached, crouched at and peered around that ominous corner of dancing firelight and emotionally gut-wrenching resonations to see….his breathing embrace inertia. 

The aftermath of a calamitous bending clash, this hideout, which must’ve once resembled an uncanny meshwork residence of semi-civilized living, wild brigandage livelihood and adventurers repose that Sokka would’ve envied ownership of, was sundered unto a shambles of charred, pulverized furniture and living comforts strewn all over, hosting dozens of small fires that eagerly contributed to the thin smoky smog and the violent war between light and shadow animating the walls, floor and high ceiling of Bogar’s cavern with savage, chaotic imagery doubtless mimicking the ferocious conflict of battling benders. A conflict now conclusively degenerated into the terrible scene transpiring at the heart of all this destruction.

Azula was pinned flat on her back to the ground by solid stone bonds arching over her body, their ends rooted deep into the floor, immobilizing her at feet, ankles, knees, hands, wrists and elbows with thicker bands crushing her stomach, chest, neck and forehead with such pressure that she struggled for every breath, doubly so with a thinner stone band drawn brutishly between her teeth as a makeshift gag against fire-breath by cruelly, painfully forcing her jaws wide apart, any wider would mean breakage. Sokka knew how essential the breath is to Firebenders and how restricting it renders them almost impotent, thus he could tell Azula was utterly helpless. Worse still, Bogar had, with methodically calculated viciousness, Earthbent thorns along her restraints edges that’d scratch her if she struggled, though with virtually no wriggle room, they’d never bleed her to death. Most disturbing however, was the way Azula’s legs were pinned wide apart; self-exclamatory reasoning, imagination inessential. Furious at Azula as Sokka was, she didn’t deserve that; thank the spirits her pants were still up, Bogar hadn’t done it…yet. 

Indeed it seemed Bogar only just finished immobilizing the Princess and had barely started hurting her. Currently, the bandit was crouched at Azula’s side, hunched forward with his unarmored back, which bore a big mean blistering burn, fortuitously facing the entrance -and- Sokka. Realizing he’d stopped breathing, Sokka oxygenated himself with deep, silent openmouthed breaths. He’d seen war crimes in Team Avatar’s travels, but this was plain disgusting, and the calculated setup of it proved Bogar’s done this before, many times; the mass grave of rotting, mutilated bodies Azula found, all Fire Nationers; yes, and this scene, coupled with Bogar sparing Sokka’s own life, explained much “Fire Nation friend-making at its finest.” Sokka thought sarcastically and his mighty brain, shedding its shocked inertia, did its fast-thinking thing. Bogar was definitely torturing her, but Sokka couldn’t identify the cruel implement being used with the bandit’s back facing him, it must be effective though to extract such sounds from someone like Azula, 

Another raspy, bloodcurdling wail, this one longer, deeper, worse; clearly what little air Azula could draw went to screaming and writhing, the thorns pricking her skin and the stone gag stressing her jaw, distorting her outcries into ghoulish, abrading animalistic howls. The bandit paused, Azula’s screams dissolving to apoplectic nose-panting “I like alchemy, and biology,” Bogar stated in a pitiless baritone that reverberated disquietingly through the hideout “it’s the reason why direct skin contacts with this beautiful black stone, is so…” Pause, a muffled, croaking shriek of mortal agony that wrenched unexpectedly at Sokka’s heart “Intolerable; our bodies are big bags of chemicals you know, some substances agree with our makeup, and others…” More excruciated screams ”Less so.” 

Sokka’s fists clenched, strangling the pegs, his teeth grinding with such outrage he feared Bogar might hear. Azula whimpered then cut loose with a slew of unintelligible abuse, trying to look defiant. Bogar loved that, and hearing that glee, a cold-cold hatred for this man bloomed inside Sokka, he mightn’t like Azula, but he respected her as he respected all strong women; truly that Black Alchemist Stone’s touch must be diabolical to reduce her to this so quickly, even her defiant garbling sounded hollow, her fiery, indomitable spirit was cracking already. Bogar sensed it too and loosed a deranged cackle, the upbeat bandit Sokka met earlier had become an upbeat monster dementedly lapping up Azula’s suffering like a thirsty desert-dog rewarded a full waterdish. 

“Ah-yes, that delicious disbelief in your eyes, your cries; they question; how did this happen to me…ME?” Bogar mocked in blubbering falsetto “And you were so confident earlier, so self-assured mehehehe; what happened to that cocky attitude? That promise of pain, and suffering? Aren’t royal whores meant to keep their promises? Shouldn’t I be in your place now, screaming for mercy under your putrid blue death?”

Another muffled shriek, more whimpering, no incoherent abuse this time, Sokka shivered again; Azula tried not to thrash against the thorns but failed. That stone, Sokka wanted to wretch; yet being in his warrior/hunter mindset, he hardened his heart and tore his eyes from Azula’s plight, remembering situational awareness he assessed the environment. Loose rubble and wreckage littered the floor between him and Bogar like a minefield, no large obstacles, the biggest a smashed table, but enough loose shattered stone and clutter that if kicked or crunched underfoot would surely alert Bogar. Against the far right wall Azula’s many knives and belt tools lay haphazardly discarded, either she’d thrown them at Bogar or Bogar took them after subduing her and tossed them aside. Though superior to tent-pegs, Sokka ignored the knives as retrieving one would place him in Bogar’s peripheral vision and Sokka felt too exhausted for round two, so it’d either be a stealthy flank-n-stab, or nothing, as in abandoning Azula; yeah, not an option, Zuko would geld him. Slowly, very slowly, Sokka stalked closer, glad Bogar was too busy being a sicko to sense impending peril the way Toph might, and luckier still, the firelight cast his shadow backwards.

“Yes, I know who you are, princess; pieced it together from what that nice Water Tribe lad let slip; rival Bounty Hunter, betrayer, HA!” Bogar crowed “Predictable, no surprise, making him beg for salvation like that, antagonizing him knowing I’d hear you from afar, that I’d come back here into your ambush;” Bogar literally spat in her face “You sicken me; it’s a mystery why such a smart kid would trust a filthy little -cunt- like you.” 

A valid point, yet Sokka wasn’t distracted, he kept his mouth open slightly to reduce breathing and swallowing noises, his steps tentative to avoid disturbing the floor litter, it was hard going as the mess left few silent options for foot placement, forcing him to weigh the risks of every movement. passing a fist sized rock, Sokka pondered trading the lethal option of tent-pegs for its non-lethal noggin-bopping knockout; but no, to have defeated Azula Bogar must be resilient, plus Sokka hadn’t the arm strength left after his climb, and ironic as clocking an Earthbender with earth sounded, they were both done for if he failed. Sokka hated killing but it was the only way to save Azula; yes, Azula of all people, even in his head it sounded ridiculous.

“Especially considering what your family ordered done to his people. From the south ain’t he? Maybe I’ll invite him up here to join the fun; what ya think bitch, reckon he’d want a pound of your pasty, rotten flesh the way I do?” Oh no Sokka certainly didn’t, bizarrely he wanted to save her skin, doubly so when Azula’s next outcry made his knees go wobbly, almost compromising him; “Feel it?” Bogar waved the stone, snickering “Just a half second touch gets you honking like the royal whore-slag you are, ergo why I’m wearing gloves; clever me eh?” Sokka could imagine Bogar’s terrible death’s head grin, all teeth and malice to match his tone “But prolonged contact, welllll, try to imagine your flesh, and muscle tissue, eating itself to escape the touch, like natural suicide, you won’t even bleed out. Today though, I’ll only be taking your skin, among other things….” He tapped her inner thigh, Azula went nuts, gobbling and thrashing despite the pricking thorns, Bogar guffawed “Just like your fucking soldiers did to my…” Bogar trailed off, made some indecipherable, emotionally choked noises, then Azula shrieked again as Sokka crept nearer, getting lucky with a meter of clear ground, poising his tent pegs into a diagonal ready-plunge position. Just five more steps.

More screams, Closer Sokka crept, Bogar resumed talking, more emotional now, bad sign “And after you learn those, indignities, I’ll take a nap, a day’s retribution is hard work after all; then tomorrow, I’ll cut off all your digits, a quarter digit at a time, cauterize, and repeat.” He giggled and sniffled in pitchy sing-song “Third day, I’ll pulverize to powder every non-vital bone in your body –after- I cut out your eyes, ears, nose, and –other- inessential parts.” Bogar leered at her chest and the way Azula’s breath caught evidenced Bogar wasn’t lying, the rotted corpses in that pit were missing such assets, her reaction made both Sokka and Bogar shiver for reasons worlds apart “Then it’s back to the Black Alchemist Stone till you die of pain overload, which’ll take a while; I know how to keep em alive for a –loooong- time, force-feeding, force-excreting, etcetera. Saw my Garbage pit didn’t you? Probably done some torture yourself too, eh? Fun, isn’t it?” He chortled manically, evoking Azula’s most agonized howl yet.

While Bogar hadn’t detected him; Azula however, still mewling, did. Sokka stopped dead, stunned by the sudden relief in her wide, watering eyes and the almost pleading expressiveness that replaced it at his freezing; those eyes, once the symbol of purest evil in his life, unbelievably, leaked a single tear. Could a product of Black Alchemy really bring one so strong so low, so fast? Her wide wild gaze locked onto Sokka’s and his heart seized up; that look, she thought he would abandon her here; in her place he’d fear the same. But she’d underestimated him, again, misjudged him, again, he’d never leave anyone to die like this, not even her. In that time frozen instant, it struck Sokka just how fragile Azula looked, how human; conflicting feelings raged in him, altering his perception of her significantly. The longevity of their profound soul gazing was milliseconds, but the unspoken messages Sokka’s deep blue eyes conveyed to Azula’s pain maddened golden ones sincerely declared she would not be abandoned again. Message received, Azula, now playacting resigned despair, looked away to avoid compromising Sokka’s ambush. Countenance icy as his homeland, Sokka became the Southern Huntsman; careful, careful steps, so close now, and Azula was, well, Azula, she’d keep it together, and with Sokka but once small step from reaching Bogar, she’d not be waiting long. 

And so it was that sometime in the following moment, Bogar died; Sokka swiftly, silently closed the gap, a hateful, disgusted expression contorting his features as he slammed both tent-pegs horizontally, point first, into each of the bandit’s ears, punching deep into his brain with a wet, squishing, slithering noise that eerily mimicked Bogar’s final boggled gasp before his body went rigid, head flopping back, eyes finding Sokka’s in that traumatic instant, somehow recognizing him, they asked “Why; why save her?” Unanswered to the last; numbly Sokka let Bogar topple over and was standing at Azula’s side before the failed human being hit the ground, stone dead.

He’d, just killed, again; something about Sokka’s blank staring eyes stopped Azula’s heart, this wasn’t the goofball she knew, this man was different, much-much darker, his face unrecognizable, eyes lifeless, staring into nothing; laying there, helpless, vulnerable, him standing over her, never until now had she true cause to fear the Tribesman. Suddenly his empty, nebulose gaze found hers, held it, held her; darkness that beggared the bandit’s and even her own in the eyes of this fool comedian, Azula saw, but couldn’t believe, yet relieved was she at its ebb and passing and the zany peasant returning, reverting to himself, his features dazed and forlorn….for he’d just killed, again….

Compartmentalizing his melancholia, Sokka looked down on Azula, froze, suddenly realizing his unique advantage over the infamous Princess who, doubtless recalling the similar role-reversal from earlier, her boot on his throat, instantly understood his hesitation. Voice rasping but placatingly gentle, she tried to speak, her gag objected, fueling her distress, his calculating gaze further fuel. She struggled feebly against pitiless bonds, glaring and hissing illegible threats, revealing the fear behind them, fear that he’d exploit her impotence and sate vendettas long denied. 

Azula however, had again misjudged him. Last year her terror would’ve been sweet nectar to him, yet he’d never –ever- do what Bogar did. Use her as a bargaining chip? Sure. Kill her? Ehhh-Maybe; but never torture….Still, why waste a rare opportunity. Sokka grinned his typically mischievous grin, much to Azula’s irritation and secret relief, reimagining those eyes without their impish, life-affirming sparkle. Seeing her annoyance, Sokka had a sudden insane impulse to tickle the immobilized princess into tears of hysterics, but it died upon reassessing that now frantically squirming princess’s battered condition, that and she’d brained him last time he accidentally tickle-attacked her.

“Aw-settle down, I won’t do anything; though you know I could, right?” She paused, regarding him, golden eyes distrustful, then nodded, or tried to anyway “Good, so next time you think about manipulating me into getting myself killed, yeah I figured out your game;” Azula froze, eyes widening slightly, confirming his suspicion “I want you to remember this moment when I could’ve taken advantage, but didn’t;” She squinted at him, he detected disapproval, so clarified “This isn’t mercy, or pity, so don’t go thinking I’m weak, my reasons for helping you are –entirely- selfish I assure you. So, are we agreed?” Her eyes scrutinized him, seeking untruth; then, with another minute nod that looked almost approving, she conceded.

Sokka turned to retrieve his War-club, Boomerang and knife from Bogar’s belt and shuddered at the pooling blood and how the tent-pegs protruding from the bandits head resembled a grotesque mimicry of handlebars. Had he really done that? Face paling, he snatched his possessions and spun away, sickened; Azula observed him from the corner of her eye, his queasiness apparently amused her. 

Kneeling at her side, Sokka said “I’m going to free your neck first so you can breathe better, probably best I bust the stone here;” He tapped where the bonds rooted into the floor with his club, surprised at Bogar’s skill, having originally believed only Toph and King Bumi could make stone this resilient, “Less chance of those thorns cutting you up; so hold still, okay.” Azula gurgled at him, clearly agitated “Hey, take it easy and let me work” He snapped more harshly than intended, positioning his war-club, yet she kept squirming and mewling, then he saw she was trying to shake her head and, after piecing together her garbled syllables, face-palmed, realizing her jaw must be absolute agony “Alright, alright, I’ll get that load off your tongue first.” Azula looked satisfied with that and lay still, letting him commence the delicate job of breaking the stone without injuring her jaw by using his club and knife like a hammer and nail “You totally owe me for this.” He muttered and she gave him the evil eye.

Despite being her thinnest restraint, it was a delicate operation, the vibrations clearly hurt her, but having experience breaking ice it only took a minute to crack one end before repeating the process on Azula’s other side, and soon enough she could speak again. Azula worked her jaw, winced, coughed shallowly, taking painful gasping breaths to croak “Free, my diaphragm, and, one, of, my arms, peas-ant; I’ll, handle….th-the rest.”

“What, no swooning –oh Sokka, your my hero- speech?” He jabbed, feeling cheated. 

Despite being close to passing out, Azula mustered a look so withering Sokka instantly got started freeing her neck, knowing the rest would be less risky than freeing her jaw. Two minutes later her neck was free, another minute on and he was almost halfway done with her chest restraint when Azula wheezingly hissed “Hurry up, peasant,”

Sokka scowled, grumbling “Stone busting fast as I can here, Royal Highness.”

“Well bust, faster; I, hate, this.” Her voice cracked into a squeak, Sokka supposed he should be sympathetic, people like Azula take to vulnerability like fish take to dry land; still, her bossiness rankled.

“I’d work faster –without- interruptions, hint-hint; so quit harping at me, or I’ll gag you again.”

Oh such a look she gave him, which then twisted into a devious smirk “So charming;” She croaked, voice dripping sarcasm “Sure know how, to play the, gentleman; i-is-this, how you treat your, precious Kioshi Trophy Girl, whenever she, backchats you?”

“Only in the bedroom.” Sokka distractedly lied without thinking then felt like slapping himself? Man, if Suki ever learns he told such a lie, in jest, to anger the girl who imprisoned her…aww bad days.

He’d aimed his thoughtless repartee to offend Azula’s stuffy social etiquette, and indeed she affected a revolted expression, but failing to hold it she exhaled an uncharacteristic snort of clipped, smoky laughter “You Barbarian.” Uncannily, her voice carried no scorn, probably too exhausted, even her haughty smirk looked strained 

Sokka snorted “Only kidding, just trying to shock you.”

“Well that backfired, didn’t it?” Azula drawled condescendingly between labored breaths “Oh and, a little free advice, peasant; domineering, ill-suits you.”

She’d turned it around on him damn her; making Sokka the squeamish one; he shrugged to hide it “Yep, that’s your racket, besides I’d never treat Suki like that.”

“Pff, obviously; she’d beat you bloody first.”

“That too.”

Azula’s eyes sparkled wickedly, her smirk growing teeth “Of course, at first chance, I’m totally telling her, what you said.”

“And I’m totally leaving you here like this… unless you swear on your Firebending not to.” Sokka bluffed.

Azula glowered, eyes challenging “You wouldn’t, dare.”

“Oh wouldn’t I; you sure?” He smirked, locking stares, then they both snickered, knowing he wouldn’t, not after risking his life to preserve hers “Nothing worse than a tattletale, Princess.” He admonished feebly. 

“Fair enough, peasant;” Azula conceded breathily “ZuZu was a master tattletale, when we were children, ergo I can respect, your logic, and shall endeavor to keep, that fickle slip, of your dirty, silver tongue, to myself.” 

“Eww, that sounded –SO- wrong; please rephrase that before I puke.” Sokka groaned, Azula guffawed, it was contagious, he snickered, silently hoping the red in cheeks were just pressure marks.

This was messed up, first he kills her torturer and now this bizarre exchange; clearly the trauma of their ordeal was making them loopy; but apparently laughter was medicine neither wanted yet both subconsciously needed despite the inappropriate time, situation and subject. Their past banters had been guardedly competitive with slight mutual respect; but here, now, sharing a laugh under such absurd circumstances, it was, nice; but also fleeting, for suddenly they remembered who they were, who the other was and all the reasons not to lower their guard. Thus an unhappy silence ensued, only the crackle of burning wreckage and the clubbing of stone crediting the existence of sound until, some minutes later, Sokka finally broke off the stone restraints crushing Azula’s chest and pinning her right arm at wrist and elbow whereupon Azula handled the rest, though her fire was noticeably weaker. It took her a while to stand upright without swaying, but Sokka, not dumb enough to impeach her tough girl independence, didn’t help steady her and instead waited patiently while she composed herself.

“Did I just save one of my least favorite people from a villain less villainous than she?” Sokka feared his brain might hemorrhage from disbelief. His whole body shook with emotional turmoil and ebbing adrenaline; Azula wasn’t faring much better, standing there, staring into nothing. As a royal princess raised in pomp and privilege, Sokka bet she’d never factored being subjected to torture a possibility; to her kind, torture is only sowed and never reaped. Sokka hadn’t forgiven all Azula did in the war, the hunting, hounding and attempted killing, or forgiven her near fatal manipulating today, perhaps he’d never forgive her. Yet…yet he’d slain Bogar for her, which in itself would tax him several restless nights. Killing, it never gets easier, and if Azula gives him grief about it, he’d strangle her. As to why he saved her drastically overvalued hide; simple, he’d done it, not for Azula’s sake, but to preserve his basic human decency, something he’d forfeit had he abandoned her to Bogar’s depravity, resulting in a guilt racked conscience that’d deny him years of peaceful sleep; so, prizing quality shuteye as highly as a full belly, it was a nobrainer.

Sokka discreetly eyed Azula for injures, she looked like hell on shaky legs, beat up, her new outfit torn in places, the skin beneath scraped and bruised, she was sweaty, dirt-caked and her hair had fallen from its half-knot to hang like a damp tangled curtain clinging to her back and face which was relatively unharmed bar a scraped cheek, but overall, nothing major. Numbly, Sokka’s eyes roved the cave, suddenly fixing on Bogar’s Black Alchemist Stone lying not far from its former owner’s pooling blood; fist sized, smooth edged like a flawlessly cut gem, gleaming with a dark beauty so malignant that no respectable person would covet it. Mesmerized and too dazed to catch his mistake, Sokka bent to pick it up, a move that snapped Azula wide-eyed to her senses “Don’t touch that!” She barked huskily; too late, the slightest brush of his bare fingertips was enough. 

Letting out a bloodcurdling shriek, Sokka collapsed in a fit of violent convulsions, reality twisting and warping into dimensions and colors he wasn’t sure existed. Luckily the sensation was brief and he didn’t faint, but oh spirits his head; he was no stranger to pain, but not in all his life, in all imagination “Eeeeeh, what-de-fuke, wus-dat!!!” He gasped, whimpering, dribbling, too shrill and hysterical to speak coherently. He sympathizing with Azula now, totally; and to think, Bogar spent days torturing the Fire Nationers in that mass grave using this evil thing. Sokka trembled from anger and muscle spasms both, any remorse he’d harbored for killing Bogar deader than the bandit himself.

Once his brain readjusted itself, Sokka sat up “Warned you.” Azula lilted, some of her moxie returning; then she surprised him by extending a hand to help him up which he tentatively accepted, though she left him to steady himself. No pain lingered and his fingers bore no evident wounds, yet deep inside he felt horribly violated somehow.

“Who’d, make something like that?” Sokka fumed. 

Azula didn’t reply, her eyes were set on the Black Alchemist Stone for several long seconds, then suddenly she let out an enraged cry of raw emotion and cut loose two jets of fire so hot they burned white as they engulfed Bogar’s corpse, incinerating it to a charred blackened husk and poisoning the air with the foul odor of burning hair and flesh. Sokka goggled, horrified to see his hard won bounty rendered utterly unidentifiable? Three days of working, arguing and ball-busting, wasted. Furious, Sokka opened his mouth to let Azula have it, but one look at her and he instantly shut it again; this wasn’t like last night, this time Azula really was unstable. But who wouldn’t be after getting tortured? Azula’s chest heaved, her face an unreadable mask as she calmed down, her posture straightened, projecting a strong façade for both their benefit. Stubborn woman, just like Toph, refusing to show weakness; but hell, was he, Sokka the manly man, any different?

Sokka’s attention returned to the Black Alchemist Stone and he was fretting over what to do with the vile thing when the scuff of tottering uneven footfalls made him looke up just in time to see Azula take three short staggering steps toward the cave exit, sway dizzily, then her eyes rolled back, her legs folded and, with a resigned, frustrated sigh, she fainted. Sokka however was already moving and caught her before she cracked her head open; he marveled at his reaction, both its speed because he felt like fainting too, and the fact that he cared enough to catch her. He lowered Azula gently to the ground, her last conscious mumbling something like “Filthy hands off, me, princess filthy hands….” 

Grimacing, he examined one of her gloved dirt-caked hands “Princess filthy hands, yep, that’s you.” Lacking the energy to laugh, Sokka just sat for a while to recover, charitably resting Azula’s head on his lap, sighing as he leaned back on his hands, eyes scrunched shut against a swelling stress headache, focusing on every aching muscle to avoid thinking about everything wrong with this picture while the dozen small furniture fires around them petered out. How had they gotten here? “Just love messing with me, don’t ya world.” 

Deciding he’d rested enough and that Azula wouldn’t wake any time soon, Sokka gently lay the princess down, stood and retrieved his damp pack from outside where it still rained, only lighter now. Re-entering the cave, Sokka withdrew his waterskin and drank greedily after trying and failing to coax the unconscious Azula to drink a little. Repacking the canteen, he then sheathed his three confiscated weapons, Boomerang and Clubby getting big welcome home hugs beforehand, his favorite knife would’ve too but for obvious risks. Next, Sokka decided to take the Black Alchemist Stone with him; wouldn’t do for it to fall into bad hands again. So, taking a thick rag from his pack, he used it to pick up, securely wrap and promptly deposit it in his pack’s empty side-pouch, his guts twisted in fearful anticipation the whole time despite the rag successfully insulating skin-contact.

Sokka didn’t bother rummaging Bogar’s other worldly possession, Azula had incinerated everything; must’ve been one crazy battle, even the cave roof wasn’t looking too safe judging by the tall, spiky, fallen stalactites skewering the floor. Eager to leave, Sokka quickly sought and spotted Azula’s discarded backpack; tattered and singed but still intact, it’d been hurled nearby her various knives and hunting tools which Sokka tossed in his own bag before riffling through her pack, transferring only what she’d want to keep, mainly her princessly attire, night gown, several other things and, most notably, her golden hairpiece, she’d roast him for leaving that behind; odd though, that Zuko would return it. Sokka shrugged, not his concern. He also ditched his crappy tent and other inessentials to make carrying Azula and their supplies easier. 

Yeah; carrying Azula. Sokka guffawed, shook his head “What a day.” He thought, shouldering the pack before scooping up the princess who was heavier than she looked, all strong, lean muscles he guessed, a small but powerful package. Again acutely aware of the weird situation, Sokka pondered dragging the militia captain up here to prove Bogar’s fate to distract himself but dismissed the idea, no way would the captain pay out the two thirds for deceased delivery; charred corpses are inadmissible since they could be anyone “Lousiest bounty hunting team ever.” Sokka grumbled as he exited the reeking cave into far fresher air baring the combined weight of Azula and an overfull pack, not once contemplating giving Bogar the undeserved courtesy of a decent burial “Let the sick bastard rot.”

….

(From the Krovine Slopes to Jin-Sing, estimated around midday to early noon.)

-Sokka-

The return walk in the pouring rain was dreary, laborious, exhaustive and slow going while the breeze, once pleasant, was bitingly chill on sodden exposed skin. Sokka increased his pace, not wanting to catch cold, or catch his death at Azula’s hands if she awoke with one. Mercifully the ramparts descended gently, he didn’t stumble once, and though gentle ramps meant longer ramps, it beat breaking his neck. Trekking back through the woods however was more trying; he had to go slow in places to avoid slipping in muddy patches or tripping on rocks or roots. That said Sokka was glad Azula insisted on memorizing their initial approach, he’d labeled it a time wasting exercise then, but now it quickened their return to Jin-Sing. 

Good thing too because by the time he made it through the town gate Appa had landed by when they’d first come here, Sokka was positively pooped, taking one step at a time, his damp heavy clothes clinging leechlike to his skin, rubbing unpleasantly, rainwater having mixed with dirt and dust coagulating into a gritty, muddy mess; Azula looked no better. In all he felt like a tired old soldier forced to march all day and all night carrying an injured comrade; in fact that’s exactly how miserable he felt, though trading comrade for, well, uh. What the hell was Azula to him now anyway? Screw it, he’d contemplate that one later; right now all that concerned Sokka was finding a damned healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My shoddy rock-climbing logic here is that if Azula could save herself from a fatal plunge with a hairpin, Sokka should be able to scale a cliff with tent-pegs, stupid I know, but I couldn’t be crapped researching it for the sake of a few paragraphs.
> 
> What Azula sees in Sokka after Bogar’s death is simply conscience shock, Sokka hasn’t killed since the war and it hits him pretty hard, but Azula misinterprets it as darkness because her understanding of the conscience is very limited. Sokka himself isn’t aware of his little fadeout, thus his automatic return to goofy Sokka afterwards, sort of the brains defense mechanism against trauma. Of team Avatar, Sokka seemed the most likely to take life, but never lightly. 
> 
> the insinuation Bogar would’ve raped Azula was just Sokka misreading things; Bogar did tell Azula he would, but only to scare her; though he tortures Fire Nationers, he hasn’t sunk that low, plus he’d never touch women from a culture he deems a diseased cancer on the world. Bogar’s basically a traumatized psychopath clutching at some twisted moral code to preserve his little remaining humanity, like intending to let Sokka go free; the ledge stranding was Bogar’s way of teaching Sokka how fragilely precious life is. Yet Bogar himself was relieved Sokka killed him legitimately because suicide’s a big no-no to a survivor, but stuck in a vicious cycle of self-torment so many years, his only escape was death, else his hunger for revenge would continue growing; deep down Bogar knew this and hoped someone like Sokka would someday do what he couldn’t and end his purgatory. What hurt Bogar most though was Sokka murdering him to rescue the Fire Princess herself. And yes, if Azula had won, she’d have tortured Bogar a little before turning him over –mostly- alive.
> 
> Anyway, life’s become busy and I’ve just plain lost my flare for writing, I guess imagination dies as one ages and gets more enmeshed in the outside world, thus here is where this story ends. 
> 
> Okay, I know what you might be thinking. How can I leave it at this when there’s such an interesting situation between Sokka and Azula left unresolved? Like her reaction to him saving her life and that awkward conversation over said rescue where they both try to act like it meant nothing. Honestly, I’m total crap at deep or complex dialogue, emotions and whatnot (Spend most of my life avoiding that shit) Comedy I’m halfway okay at, Action scenes I’m little better, but anything meaningful, I’m hopeless. Better to end it before I screw it up by forcing myself to write an uninspired conclusion that’ll wreck the whole fic. Best thing I figure is to leave the future and the fate of their bounty hunting partnership in the shadows of ambiguity and the conjectures of readers with imaginations far greater than my own. Besides, strange as it sounds, I like this ending. 
> 
> Still, if anyone wishes to adopt my fic as their own and continue it, they are more than welcome. Permission is hereby given freely.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and my sincerest apologies if the ending wasn’t to my readers tastes.


End file.
